


Executive Decision

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst and Tragedy, Animal Death, BDSM, Dubious Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Gratuitous Smut, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, NSFW, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, animal death - nothing graphic, animal death mentioned, dub con, more to come - Freeform, you're mom is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: Steve Rogers is the CEO of his own company, and he’s a man that has never heard the word no from anyone. He goes after what he wants and he gets it, no matter the cost.You’re doing your best; sharing an apartment with your best friend, struggling through college, trying to make your own imprint on this world.The two of you cross paths when, as a favor to your friend, you interview him for a magazine. Without meaning to, you catch the attention of the insanely wealthy and intense bachelor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. There are going to be similarities to 50 Shades of Grey. This isn’t a rewrite, this is my take on how it should have been.

[ ](https://star-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com/image/181245015994)

* * *

 

 

“Mr. Rogers will see you now,” announced the perfect specimen of a woman. She was tall, thanks to her mile-long legs and six-inch heels, her waist was thin, probably from eating only salads and almonds, and her skin was glowing from all the nutrient-packed water she undoubtedly drank.

She made you feel small, messy, unimportant, mousey. You didn’t even know her and you hated her.

Holding the black leather bi-fold tight, you stood and gave her a brief smile. The  _click-click_  of her heels on white and grey marble echoed in your ears. It was getting on your nerves; her physical perfection mixed with the eardrum-piercing heels she wore. If you were to wear them, you’d break an ankle or two, to begin with.

The pair of you approached a set of floor-to-ceiling doors. She opened one of them for you, waited until you stepped into the office, and closed it behind you without a word.

God, it was beautiful, and insanely large. You could fit your entire apartment in there at least five times, and there’d still be room left over. The furniture was black leather and the floor was a lovely mixture of denim and slate with flecks of silver throughout. Sitting behind a blood-red mahogany desk was the man who you would be interviewing.

Swallowing around the knot in your throat, you squared your shoulders and began to cross the room. You didn’t make it very far, because when Steve Rogers turned away from the flat screen monitor and all but impaled you with a set of icy blue eyes, you tripped over your own feet.

 _Shit, shit, shit. Way to make a first impression, you idiot._  You moved to grab the folder that had toppled from your grip, but another set of hands plucked it from the floor. One of those hands was in front of you a moment later.

“Miss Romanov, are you alright?” he asked.

After he helped you up, you forced yourself not to look him in the eye. “Y/N Y/L/N,” you murmured, straightening your skirt. “Nat, I mean Natasha, uh… Miss Romanov has the flu, so she asked me to fill in.”

The inconvenience didn’t seem to phase him. Wearing a warm smile, he handed you the folder and motioned to a set of chairs. Once you were seated, he unbuttoned the grey suit jacket, revealing a matching vest with a dark tie tucked into it.

“I see,” he replied, swiping a hand along his vest and crossing his legs. “Are you studying journalism as well?”

“No,” you answered with a shake of your head. “English literature.”

Knowing you only had a handful of minutes, you opened the folder and took a quick look at the questions Nat had written down. “Are you ready?”

Steve smirked as he said, “Whenever you are.”

You cleared your throat softly, praying you didn’t sound as unprepared as you felt. “So, this is for the special graduation issue of the student newspaper.”

“Yes, I’m giving the commencement address at this year’s ceremony,” he confirmed quickly.

“You are? I mean, yeah, I know,” you stammered, quickly finding the next question, hoping he couldn’t see the blush that spread up your neck and into your cheeks.

“You are very young to have amassed an empire. To what do you owe -”

“To what do I owe my success?” he interrupted, looking less than interested. “Seriously?”

You couldn’t explain the zing that slithered down your spine. “Yes.”

Steve sighed. “Business is about people, and I’ve always been good at people. What motivates them, what inspires them. The harder I work, the more luck I seem to have. The key to my success is identifying talents in individuals. That, and harnessing their efforts.”

“So, you’re a control freak?”

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, in every aspect of my life, Miss Y/L/N,” he said, amusement coloring his words.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of his statement, but you knew you didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Okay, um, your company is involved primarily in telecommunications. Yet, you also invest in numerous charity projects, mainly those dealing with wounded veterans. Is that something you feel passionate about?”

“It’s smart business,” he said a little too quickly.

You couldn’t hide the disappointment that crossed your face, so it wasn’t a surprise when he asked, “You don’t agree?”

“I don’t know enough about it,” you answered with a shrug. “I just wonder if your heart might be a bit bigger than you want to let on.”

Steve scoffed softly. “Some people say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me too well,” he answered sharply. “But I digress. Please, continue.”

You raised your eyebrows at the way his voice rose. “Do you have any interests outside of work?”

He seemed to find that question humorous. “I enjoy various physical pursuits.”

“You’re unmarried… oh, I see that you were adopted at the age of four.” Sympathy washed through you and you were sure it bled into the way you looked at him.

“That’s a matter of public record.” His words were clipped, irritation settling in his body language.

Well, that wasn’t good. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Do you have an  _actual_  question, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked, taking a glance at his watch.

Without a second thought, you blurted out, “Are you gay?” As soon as the words were out, you chuckled nervously. “It… it’s written here, I’m just -”

Steve shook his head. “No, Y/N. I’m not gay.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. Nat can be a little -”

“Intrusive?” he interrupted, eyebrow arched, icy eyes drilling into you.

“Curious,” you corrected him.

Steve shifted in his chair, uncrossed his legs, only to cross them again a moment later. “What about you? Why don’t you ask me something you want to know?”

You didn’t waste a moment. “Earlier, you said that there are some people who know you well. What role do those people play in the multitude of decisions you make for the numerous charities?”

“Mr. Rogers,” the perfect woman said, making you jump. “Your next meeting is in the conference room.”

“Cancel it,” he said without hesitation. “We’re not finished here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your heart was pounding against your ribs painfully. “I can go.”

“It’s fine,” he murmured, eyes weighing heavily on you. “I would like to know more about you.”

“There’s not really much to know about me,” you chuckled, your nerves getting the better of you.

“You said you’re in English literature? Tell me, was it Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, or Thomas Hardy who made you fall in love with literature?”

“Hardy.”

Steve hummed as he stood, buttoning his jacket on the way. “I would’ve guessed Jane Austen. What are your plans for after you graduate?”

“I’m just trying to get through my finals,” you breathed, tucking some hair behind your ear. Closing the folder, you stood and accompanied him out of the office.

“And then?” Steve sounded curious, and you weren’t sure if his curiosity was genuine, or if he was just that good at acting as if he were.

“Then I was planning on moving here with Nat.” Arriving at the elevator, you moved to push the down button, but Steve beat you to it.

“We offer an excellent internship program.”

You turned and quickly looked at everyone that you saw. From head to toe, they were perfect. Not one thing was out of place and it made you shift nervously on your feet.

“I don’t think I’d fit in here. I mean… look at me.”

You were wearing a blue skirt with a flowered shirt tucked in, a lighter blue cardigan, almost sheer black stockings, and black wedges. Your limp hair had been pulled back at the last moment. You felt hastily put together and completely out of place.

“I am,” Steve breathed just as the elevator announced it’s arrival. “I hope you got everything you needed.”

Your mouth was painfully dry when you said, “I… I think you only answered four questions.”

As you turned to step into the elevator, Steve quickly grabbed the piece of paper that contained your… Nat’s questions.

He smirked playfully. “Y/N.”

“Steve,” you murmured, barely holding yourself together. Only when the doors closed did you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You slumped against the wall and closed your eyes.

Steve had completely overwhelmed your senses from the get go. He was tall and wide, his dark blonde hair was perfectly styled, his ginger beard was trimmed, giving a sense of relaxation amidst the serious businessman that he was. You had to force yourself not to watch his hands and legs as he sat across from you, not that looking into the icy-blue orbs was any better.

“Holy shit,” you gasped.

* * *

Natasha was looking at her laptop when you got home.

“Um, before you say anything -”

Despite having been throwing up for the better part of two days, Nat smiled wide. “You’re a goddess,” she praised. “This is perfect.”

That didn’t sound right. You slipped out of your jacket and hung it on a hook. “What do you mean it’s perfect?”

“I just got his email,” she confirmed, whirling the laptop around. “He answered every question.”

_That’s why he took the list._

“So,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “What was he like?”

“He was fine,” you answered quickly. The last thing you wanted to do was talk about a man that both intimidated and aroused you.

She stared at you and scoffed. “Just fine?”

“Well… I mean… he was really polite, and he was courteous, and very formal and… and clean,” you rambled.

“Clean,” she repeated, her tone flat, her eyebrow arched.

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean he was very, you know, smart and intense. It was kind of intimidating. I can understand the fascination.”

Nat’s eyes pierced into you, making your throat and mouth go dry. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you managed to rasp.

“Like what?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, trying her hardest to look innocent.

Laughing gently, you shook your head. “Okay, I’m gonna make a sandwich. Would you like one?”

“No, thanks,” Nat said. “I haven’t been able to keep anything down today.”

While you made your sandwich, she kept glancing at you. “What?” you huffed once you had taken a second bite.

Nat turned the laptop around, showing you a picture of Steve from a recent fundraiser. “You have to admit, he’s ridiculously hot.”

“Sure,” you shrugged. “If you’re attracted to that sort of human.”

“The hot type of human?” she snorted.

You stared at her hard. “I asked him if he was gay, that was in your questions. Why would you do that to me?”

“Because,” Nat sighed. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he’s never photographed with a woman. Naturally -”

“Maybe he wants to keep his private life just that, private, Natasha,” you chastised, eyebrow arched, unamusement clear on your face.

She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You’ve got a crush on Steve Rogers.”

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to get her to leave you alone. “This conversation is over.” You should have known it wouldn’t have worked.

“Too bad we don’t have some original stills of your hot, clean, thirty year old billionaire. The camera loves him almost as much as you do,” Nat deadpanned.

You shot her a look of disapproval, noticing the way her eyes drifted down to your half-eaten sandwich.

“You hungry?” you asked, holding the plate out.

“You sure you don’t mind?” she asked just as her stomach grumbled.

Chuckling, you slid the plate across the island. “You need it more than I do.”

Nat took a bite and groaned in satisfaction. “God, I love you.”

You waited until she had disappeared into her room, the door slamming closed, before you grabbed the laptop and scrolled through the pictures of Steven Grant Rogers.

* * *

Steve was panting heavily as trudged into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. He had finished running ten miles in fifty-five minutes; his personal best. Granted, he was running in an attempt to get Y/N off his mind for longer than one minute, but it proved to be a harder than it sounded.

After draining one glass, then another, Steve stepped out of his running shoes, set them in the closet by the door, and headed upstairs, stripping out of his sweat-dampened shirt. He tossed his clothes onto the floor and turned on the shower; cold. Hopefully he could get his mind cleared enough to think about other pressing matters, such as the upcoming fundraiser for the Wounded Warrior Project.

The water was like ice pellets, driving into his overheated skin, making him hiss and shiver. He scrubbed shampoo through his hair, clenching his teeth as he rinsed it out. And as soon as his eyes clamped shut, the perfectly pouty lips of Y/N came to the forefront of his mind.

“God damn it,” he cried, irritated with himself.

Never had another woman gotten under his skin like that. Fuck, he couldn’t go one minute without thinking about her, how soft her hand had been in his, the gentle aroma of lavender that wafted up his nose, how she kept biting on her bottom lip and batting those eyelashes, her eyes wide, inquisitive, staring into the deepest part of him.

His cock pulsed heavily against his palm as he stroked himself. If he couldn’t stop thinking about her, he was going to enjoy himself while he was at it.

In his mind’s eye, Y/N was on her knees, her breasts bare, nipples hard, a hand between her legs, fingers three knuckles deep in her cunt. He had a hand tangled in her hair and his cock in her mouth, those full lips swollen and coated in spit. She was swallowing around his cock, the tightening of her throat around him made him weak in the knees. She was moaning and fingering herself faster, the scent of her cum making Steve heady with desire.

Steve snarled as his balls drew up and his cock pulsed, the orgasm stealing the air from his lungs, her name nothing more than a whisper that was drowned out by the cold water that pounded on the granite floor. He slapped a hand on the wall as he pumped himself furiously, spilling himself onto the wall and floor until his cock was too sensitive to touch. He made quick work of cleaning himself and exited the shower panting harder than he had been after his ten mile run.

Dried off and wearing a pair of low slung sweats, Steve snagged the laptop from his desk and settled it on his thighs after settling onto the bed. Opening a browser, he did what he did best; research the one thing - person - he wanted most.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Your phone was ringing, and you were half-tempted to ignore it altogether, but then you caught sight of the caller ID.

“Mom,” you sighed, shoving your purse into the locker that had your name on it. “I just got to work. Can I call you back?”

She scoffed loudly. “No, I called for a reason. Your dad broke his foot.”

“Oh, God,” you hissed. “What happened?”

“He was playing golf,” she laughed, and you swore you could hear her roll her eyes. “Only he would do something that stupid.”

You cringed at the harsh bite of her laugh. “Is he in a lot of pain?”

“Who knows,” she snapped, obviously irritated that you were showing concern for your stepfather. “The man once called the paramedics because of a blister.”

When you didn’t say anything, she went on. “It means, though, that we won’t be able to fly out for your graduation.”

Ah, there it was, the ever-present excuse your mother never failed to have. She always did this, promised, swore on a stack of Bibles that she’d be there for you,  _no matter what_. You were tired of getting your hopes up, wondering if she’d follow through  _this_  time, but inevitably, you’d receive a phone call, and she’d give a reason, grinding your hope into ash.

That didn’t stop you from trying to persuade her to come. “Really? You could still fly out, see the ceremony, and fly back.”

“And leave him to fend for himself?” your mother laughed. “He’s broken his foot, darling. Would  _you_  want to be left alone if you were in his place?”

With a heavy sigh, you answered, “I guess not.” It wasn’t completely true. You had a tendency to hide away in your room with a glass of wine and a good book.

“You understand then,” she pressed, faux sympathy dripping from her words.

“I understand.”

With soft sigh, as if she were inconvenienced, she said, “I really have to go, okay? I love you.”

“I know.” The call was disconnected before you could say, “I love you, too.”

Tears stung your eyes and you gave yourself a good shake, unwilling to let yourself dwell on the fact that, once again, your mother had broken a promise. It shouldn’t have surprised you, but you were the Queen at giving people another chance.

You had just slipped the phone into your back pocket when your boss called out your name. “Could you head out front? I’m a bit busy.”

“Sure thing,” you called back, wiping a hand over your face, preparing yourself to be seen by someone other than your boss.

You approached the potential customer, struck with familiarity with how they were standing, how wide their shoulders were, the perfectly styled hair. He turned just as you cleared your throat.

“Mr. Rogers,” you croaked.

“What a pleasant surprise, Miss Y/L/N,” he smiled, fingers drumming on the counter.

“You… you’re in here,” you blurted.

Steve smiled and it made his eyes sparkle. “I was in the area on business, needed to get some books. Are you free?”

“What can I help you with?” you forced yourself to ask. It wouldn’t be professional to stand there and stare at the man that you had been ogling on the laptop the previous week. Who were you kidding? Every night since the interview.

He stuffed a hand into his pocket before answering. “Do you have anything on knots?”

“Knots?” you repeated. “Any kind in particular?”

There was a glimmer in his eyes that made your stomach flip. “I have a boat, one that I take out quite regularly once the weather is nice.”

You took the lead, walking to the back corner of the store. “If you go boating regularly, why would you need to know how to tie a knot?”

“I like to learn new things,” he answered.

You looked at him over your shoulder when he added, “I’m always looking to be challenged.”

“Is that so?”

Steve was standing incredibly close, clouding your judgement with his overwhelmingly manly smell. “It is,” he breathed, azure eyes flicking to your lips.

 _Abort, abort!_  You swallowed at the knot in your throat and grabbed a book from the shelf. “I think you’ll find this one extremely… challenging.”

He didn’t even look at it, just tucked it under his arm. “Thank you, Miss -”

Your hand shot up, cutting him off. “Stop with the formalities, please.”

“Alright, Y/N,” he agreed, smirking. “Thank you.”

As much as you wanted to get him out of the store, away from you, just so you could breathe properly, you couldn’t just kick him out. “Is there anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Do you know where I could purchase some rope?”

For the second time since meeting Steve, you tripped over your own feet. You managed to catch yourself on the counter you were rounding, huffing in irritation as the edge bit into your palms.

“Rope? You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

He handed you the book to scan. “For practice.”

God, you felt stupid. You always had a hard time keeping your mouth shut, but with Steve, it’s like that ability had been slashed.

“Of course,” you muttered. “There’s a hardware store just down the block. I’m sure they’ll have what you’re looking for.”

“Alright,” Steve smiled, handing you a credit card for the book. “I’ll stop there next.”

With the receipt printed, you tucked it into the book, handing both the book and the credit card back to Steve.

“Thank you for answering Nat’s questions, by the way. She was thrilled.”

Steve slid his wallet into his pocket. “I hope she’s feeling better.”

“Yeah, she is. She’s just having a hard time finding an original picture of you to accompany the article.”

“I’ll be around tomorrow, if that works.”

There was a rush of warmth in your chest you couldn’t quite explain. “You’re willing to do that?”

“I’m staying at The Plaza,” Steve smiled, handing you a business card, a card that had his personal cell phone etched into the back. “Call me around ten.”

* * *

Nat screeched loudly, making you cringe and pull the phone from your ear. “You’re kidding, right? This is a joke?”

“I swear to you, he offered to get you an original picture,” you said, rephrasing your reason for calling, flipping Steve’s business card between your fingers.

“What else did he say?” You could hear the squealing of her bed springs in the background as she sat on her bed.

You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily. “Nat, come on. He was in there -”

“To buy a book,” your friend groaned. “You said that already.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“There  _had_  to be more of a reason for him to be there than just for a stupid book on tying complicated knots,” she pushed.

Natasha, God love her, but she was like a dog with a bone. Once she saw something she wanted, she grabbed hold and never let go. Even when it came to you. She always wanted to find the right guy for you, one that deserved  _you_. Her loyalty was unwavering, but there were times you wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. This was one of those times.

“He owns a boat,” you said. “Said he likes to learn new things.”

“I’ll bet he does,” she chuckled.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Stop it.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’s Steve Rogers.”

“Trust me, I know,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the card.

Nat blew out a breath, obviously irritated with you. “What time did he say, for the photo?”

The wine had started taking effect, removing the ability to keep your words to yourself. “Told me to call him before ten.”

“Wait… he said to  _call_  him?” she screeched for the third time. “He gave you his number, didn’t he?”

You slapped the card onto the counter. “Just his business card.”

“No, no,” she argued, and you could see the wide smile that pulled at her lips. “He’s out of town.”

“Yeah, they… they’ll patch me through to his cell,” you lied, knowing damn well she’d see right through it.

“You have his personal number, Y/N,” Nat giggled. “Oh, my God, he likes you!”

“Goodnight, Nat,” you snapped, ending the call before she could say anything more.

You hung your head and covered your face with your hands, letting loose a frustrated groan. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way that Steve Rogers, billionaire, CEO of his own god damn company… no, he couldn’t like you. You were…  _you_ , nothing special, girl next door, you lived life with your nose stuck in a book, you were struggling with college, barely scraping by, loans stacking up. That life,  _his_  life, there was no place for you in it.

With another groan, you shoved away from the counter, stormed into the bedroom, and, after plugging your phone in, you fell onto the cheap motel bed, finally drifting into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Failing to suppress a yawn, you filled a cup with coffee from the table, trying to tune out what was happening behind you. There were multiple flashes of too-bright lights, the demands of the photographer, women that thought they were talking in hushed tones stood off to the side, admiring Steve.

You watched as they blushed and giggled like they were in high school and Steve was the star quarterback. That didn’t mean you didn’t get it. After all, Steve was an incredibly sexy man. One that oozed confidence and demanded the attention of everyone simply by walking in the room. From the little you had interacted with him, you definitely saw the appeal.

“Have you noticed that he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you?” a woman to your right asked.

“What do you mean?” You looked up to find him doing the exact opposite.

The woman chuckled low in her throat. “He’s been watching you the entire time.” She held her hand out as she introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you, Maria,” you smiled. “But, I think you’re confused. There’s no way -”

Her rich laugh cut you off. “Oh, honey, no. I’m far from confused.”

You were about to argue back when your phone rang. It was Natasha, and you knew that if you didn’t answer it, she’d call back until you did. You accepted the call and made your way to the farthest corner of the room.

“How’s he look?”

“Jesus,” you chuckled. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

You groaned, but gave in to her demand. “First of all, he’s wearing an honest-to-God three piece suit.”

“No,” she gasped.

“Dark brown, textured,” you went on, peeking through your hair, hoping it wasn’t obvious that you were looking at Steve. “White shirt and pocket square, gold tie clip.”

Nat blew out a heavy breath. “Well, damn,” she praised. “No wonder you’re all hot and bothered.”

“I am not,” you ground out through your teeth. “I’m just… I’m here for you, Nat. Nothing more.”

“I didn’t ask you to stick around for the shoot,” she teased.

Rolling your eyes, you turned to find Steve staring at you, and it made your knees weak. He smiled at you, and the photographer gave an excited shout.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Steve just smiled,” you answered, watching the exchange between the two men.

Steve peered over the photographer’s shoulder and nodded, saying something you couldn’t hear over the chatter of everyone around you. He must have approved of the picture, because he gave a thumbs up sign.

“You’re falling in love,” Natasha teased in a sing-song tone.

“Shut up,” you gruffed. Steve was heading towards you, ignoring all the people around him that clamored for his attention.

Once in front of you, he said, “Meet me in the lobby, twenty minutes.” Without waiting for an answer, he winked and disappeared, a crowd of people following.

Natasha was calling your name, asking if you were okay.

“Ye- yeah,” you stammered.

“What happened? You went radio silent.”

Try as you might, you couldn’t keep from smiling. “He asked me to meet him.”

“You mean, like a date?” Nat questioned, voice elevated, chipper.

“I don’t know,” you huffed. “I’ll call you later.”

“Spare no detail!”

You hung up and tucked the phone into your back pocket. Hopefully, wherever Steve was taking you had a laid back atmosphere, because you were currently wearing the last [ **clean outfit**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2Fget_look_celebrity_airport_style%2Fset%3Fid%3D175144454&t=MTNlYWViYTQxYWYxMzUzZWZlZjc2NjUzNTdlOGZlMTljYzk3ZjM5NixlRGZzSTh2MQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171253836199%2Fexecutive-decision-two&m=1) you had packed. You were supposed to head home after the shoot, but those plans had gone right out the window.

Oh, well. At least it was for a good reason.


	3. Chapter 3

Seeing as how you knew your way around town, Steve left the coffee destination with you. The fact that it was your hometown might have helped with your decision. It was a normal, run of the mill coffee shop, friendly, family-owned. Yet, despite the eight-feet-tall windows and vaulted ceilings, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that none other than Steve Rogers was seated opposite you.

You had hardly recognized him when he approached you in the lobby of the hotel. He had forgone his usual attire of a three piece suit, opting for a more relaxed look with dark wash jeans, white t-shirt, blue zip-up sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. You damn near had a heart attack when you realized it was him.

“You seem nervous,” Steve said as he poured you some tea that you had ordered.

You murmured a thank you before taking a drink. “To be honest, you intimidate me.”

He laughed at that, head thrown back, hand over his left pec. “You have no need to be.”

“You- you’re kidding, right?” you stammered, staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Steve, you were CEO of Rogers Tech by the time you were twenty-five, and it wasn’t just handed to you because your dad owns the company. You  _earned_  it.”

Steve waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m just a regular guy.”

“Oh, okay,” you snorted. “A regular guy that runs a multi-million dollar company with profits catapulting towards ten…  _ten_  figures. Oh, and you’re also the youngest billionaire in Brooklyn. Ever.”

“I’ve got an incredible work ethic,” was his response to your hushed tirade. “Enough about me. Tell me about your family.”

“My family? Um, okay. My dad died when I was a baby, so I was raised by my step-father Phil. He’s amazing. He was there for me when -” you swallowed hard and worked hard at not crying.

Rather than let the silence stretch into thick awkwardness, Steve asked, “What about your mother?”

You about choked on a chuckle. “My mother is on husband number four. She’s an incurable romantic.”

“And you?” he asked, eyebrow arched.

“Well, I’m studying English Literature. I have to be,” you deadpanned.

And just like that, Steve’s demeanor completely changed. He pulled out some bills, set them on the table, and coolly excused himself. “I have to go.”

Of course, you thought it was something you had said or done. Whatever it was that made Steve respond that way, it was your fault. It had to be. How could you have even started to think that maybe, just  _maybe_  some guy might actually want to be with you. Swiping angrily at your face, you launched yourself out of the chair, and stormed out.

“You just gonna walk away?” you shouted. “Leave a girl to stew in her own self-destructive thoughts?”

Steve stopped walking away the moment he heard your voice. He stood there, his back to you, his head shaking.

“Is it because you already have a girlfriend?” you rasped, throat suddenly dry. “I mean, unless this is your M.O., get into the minds of the weak, act all polite and debonair, get us to start  _thinking_ , then leave us high and dry?”

Steve’s shoulders straightened as he turned. He marched up to you, just inside of your air space and murmured. “You’re an amazing woman, Y/N, and I… I don’t want to ruin you.”

“Ru- ruin me?” you sputtered. “How the hell could you do that?”

With his eyes flashing stormy-sea-blue, Steve tucked some hair behind your ear. “I don’t want you to find out.”

Just as quickly as he had entered your air space, he was gone, spinning on his heel and jogging away, maneuvering through the pedestrians. He left you there, your stomach rolling and your brain spinning at an alarming rate.

* * *

Steve jogged away from the only woman that had started to make him  _feel_  something new, something that wasn’t self-loathing or doubt. Sure, it had only been a week since the first time he saw her. But there was something about her, something different and it was refreshing as hell.

And then, just like that, every insecurity he had, every heartbreak he had suffered,  _everything_  slammed into him like a fucking train, all because Y/N had said, quite jokingly, that she was a romantic. Y/N deserved to have someone in her life that could give her that, the unyielding, all-consuming, passionate love. She didn’t deserve someone that was so damaged he was teetering on the edge of shattering.

So, he did the one thing he did best; he pushed her away. And it fucking hurt. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, crush her to his chest, and kiss her breathless, but he didn’t. He forced himself to turn, to run away from her. Old habits die hard.

Before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of his hotel suite, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping.

Bucky, his best friend and bodyguard, came in, cell phone in hand. “I got eyes on him. Thank you, Clint.”

Knowing exactly what was coming, Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Come on, man,” Bucky said. “How many times do we gotta go over this. You can’t just di -”

“Disappear,” Steve interrupted. “I know, okay.”

“You know?” he repeated, arms crossed and a brow arched. “If you know, then why’d you break protocol?”

With a roll of his eyes, Steve huffed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Ah, man,” Bucky murmured, realizing why his friend was suddenly acting like an ass. “What’s her name?”

Steve strode over to the bar and poured himself a double serving of the oldest whiskey the hotel provided. “Never said there was a her.”

Bucky chuckled low in his throat. “You act like I don’t know you, like we didn’t grow up together, like we didn’t join the goddamn ARMY together.”

Clenching his jaw, Steve met the gaze of his friend, his chosen brother. “Y/N, alright,” he growled. “It’s Y/N.”

* * *

You weren’t sure how you made it through your finals, but you did. The fact that all you did was study in the last three days certainly seemed to help. Because studying meant that you weren’t thinking of Steve. It meant that you weren’t dwelling on how it felt to have someone literally run away from you, or constantly looking at your phone, checking for missed calls and texts.

Nat continued to ask you what happened, but all you would tell her was that you needed some time to yourself. Which wasn’t necessarily a lie, but she didn’t need to know the details. She finally stopped asking after you had been back in Brooklyn for two days.

With your eyes squeezed shut, you sat in front of a mirror as Nat applied some make-up to your face. “Stop,” you protested for what had to be the hundredth time.”This is way too much. You’re getting it -”

“No, this is exactly the right amount,” she argued playfully. “Now, sit still. You’re like a toddler.”

“Enough,” you laughed, pulling back from the brush as it swept across your eyelid. Nat was about to dive back in when the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be the cab,” she announced gleefully.

You stood and checked yourself out, smoothing your hands over the front of [ **your outfit**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2Fpastels_gone_edgy%2Fset%3Fid%3D76776410&t=ZmIwYzEzMGU5MjdlNzY4ZmIyMmZjMDQyZTIyMmVkMzc4ZjU5YzFiNyxKVm1MdGx0UQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171326857754%2Fexecutive-decision-three&m=1). “Wow, Nat. This… it’s too much. I’m gonna break an ankle… or my neck in these heels.”

“Just hold on to Pietro,” she called. “Besides, you deserve a night out. You **nailed** those finals.”

When the front door opened and closed in quick succession, you thought for a fleeting second that she left without you. You whirled around and carefully walked out of your room.

She was holding a box in one hand, and an unopened card in the other. “You got a package,” she teased.

“I didn’t order anything,” you murmured, pulling the box from her hand.

Nat opened the card and started reading it. “Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me? Ladies know what to guard against because -”

“They read novels that tells them of these tricks,” you interrupted. “That’s a quote from Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”

With a huff, Nat rolled her eyes. To say that the two of you were completely different would be putting it lightly. Whereas you liked reading books with a glass of wine in front of a fire, Nat was definitely a flowers and chocolates kind of girl.

“Did anyone sign it?” you asked, setting the box on the counter and digging into it with curiosity.

She just shook her head and stood back, knowing better than to get involved in whatever was happening right then.

The sight before you sucked the breath from your lungs. “Oh, my God. These must be from Steve.”

It might not look like much to other people, but the three books that had been delivered about drove you to your knees. They were… perfection. You opened one of the books carefully.

“Do you…? I mean… these are incredible,” you mused.

Nat rolled her eyes. “Wow. Books. That’s… that’s great,” she said dryly, clearly not understanding your enthusiasm.

“No, Nat,” you argued. “These are first editions!”

The realization at just how much these could have cost made you stumble back, your ass hitting the marble countertop. “I can’t… this is too much. I can’t accept these. I have to send them back.”

As much as you wanted to keep them, there was no way you could live with yourself if you did. With your mind made up, you closed the book and set it back in the box. You’d send it back tomorrow.

* * *

Pietro, your good friend since childhood, had his arm draped around your shoulders and shoved a shot glass into your hand. “Drink it up,” he murmured, the scent of tequila heavy on his breath.

Not that you noticed, not really. You were entirely too drunk to care about little things like that, but you weren’t drunk enough to stop thinking about Steve. Either you needed more to drink, or the alcohol was breaking down the walls you had just started to build.

With the help of Pietro, you threw your head back, but couldn’t empty the glass.

“Did you get it all?” Nat shouted over the pulse of music and conversation.

You shook your head as Pietro exclaimed, “With my right eye closed and left handed, I can get this in. Ready? One, two…”

Suddenly, you had to use the restroom. You shoved away from the table, but Nat’s hand was on your wrist. “You alright?”

“I gotta pee,” you shouted, hoping you didn’t just make her deaf.

Pietro’s hand was on your waist. “Where you goin’?”

“Jesus,” you muttered in frustration. “I gotta pee!”

You stumbled across the crowded bar, only to find that there was a line of women down the length of the hall. “Fuck.”

Every second passed by painfully slow, and you were certain you were going to pee yourself. You started shifting your weight from one foot to the other, though it did little to relieve the pressure on your bladder. There were only three more women to go before it was your turn, and if you didn’t keep your mind occupied on something, anything else, you’d be needing someone with a mop and bucket.

Your phone was in your hand and you were dialing a number that you had memorized the first night you stared at his business card.

Steve answered after one ring. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, this is… I’m… it’s me,” you giggled. “I’m sending back your expensive books, because I already have copies of those. Though, I should say thank you. So… thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered. There was a crash of glass that made everyone gasp. “Y/N, where are you?”

If you could actually trust your senses right now, you’d guess that he actually sounded concerned. But that couldn’t be. Nope, definitely not.

“I’m in li- see, there’s this line.” You waved a hand as if he were there, standing next to you, judging you for drinking so much in the futile attempt to forget about him.

“A line for what?”

The woman in front of you looked over her shoulder and gave you a pained smile, one that reminded you exactly what you were in line for.

“Ah, fuck. I gotta pee!”

You could hear Steve slamming a door. “Have you been drinking?”

“I sure have, Mr. Pancy Fants.” you giggled. “Panc… Fancy! Fancy Pants. You hit the hail…hail on the nead. I mean the head on the nail.”

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he ground out through clenched teeth as he started his car. “Tell me where you are.”

You scoffed loudly. “God, you’re so  _bossy_.”

“Don’t be like this.”

“Don’t be like this,” you mocked, earning a weird glance from the woman that just exited the bathroom. “Meet me in twenty minutes. I have to go. I don’t want to ruin you. I don’t want to be with you.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be with you,” Steve growled.

Thank goodness it was your turn for the bathroom, because as soon as you shut the door, you started crying. “Piss off, Rogers.”

“Tell me where you are,” he ordered, the roar of an engine muffling his voice.

“Tell me where you are,” you mocked again, though you sounded more bitter than the previous time.

The one thing you didn’t know about Steve, but were about to find out, was just how incredibly stubborn he was. “The bar, what’s the name of it?”

The floor was starting to shift beneath your feet, so you kicked off the heels Natasha had somehow convinced you to wear. “I don’t know, Steve. I… I have to go.”

“Which bar?” he shouted. It wasn’t his aggressive tone or even the fact that he rejected you that made you cry harder, it was the alcohol, straight and simple.

“I… I’m sorry,” you choked on a sob. “I didn’t mean -”

“Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.”

Twenty minutes and several large glasses of water later, you were standing outside, heels in hand, and Pietro by your side.

“Hey,” he murmured, just loud enough to get your attention. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah. I just feel stupid for making such a scene.” Crimson flushed your neck and cheeks at just the thought of what happened earlier.

You never wanted to be that girl, the one that drunk-dialed their ex / love interest, and whined. Was it the tequila, or was it something deeper than that, something that scared you?

“Come here,” Pietro urged, his arms held open. “Stay warm.”

“No, I… I’m good.”

He pulled in a deep breath and said, “No, I wanna have the courage to do this.”

“Do what?” you asked, confusion thick on your tongue.

“I like you, Y/N,” he admitted.

You blew out a harsh breath. “I like you, too, Pietro. You’re such a great friend.”

“Y/N,” he whispered. “It’s so much more than that.”

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head as it was becoming crystal clear what he was trying to say.

Pietro nodded and took a step closer. “Very much.”

No, this couldn’t be happening. “Oh, Pietro.”

“Just… one kiss,” he pleaded.

“No, Pietro. I’m sorry, no.” Your hand was over your mouth to hide the fact that your chin was quivering. The last thing you wanted was to lose one of your best friends.

He took another step and that’s when you noticed the embarrassment in his eyes. But the voice you heard next, was neither yours, or Pietro’s.

“She said no, pal.”

Squinting, you tried to focus on the newcomer. “Steve?”

He was holding his hand out. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I… I’m with Natasha,” you said, pointing at your friend through the window.

“I’ll have Clint tell her,” Steve insisted, moving closer to you.

God, you were confused. “Who’s Clint?”

“He’s my brother,” was his simple answer. “He’s inside, talking to her now.”

You looked over your shoulder, and sure enough, Natasha was talking with a man that waved at Steve. While you were turning to look at Steve, you caught sight of Pietro as he walked away, his head hung, hands in his pockets. Part of you wanted to go to him, but he might interpret your motive all wrong.

“That’s your brother?” you asked.

“Not by choice,” Steve answered while rolling his eyes.

You swallowed at the butterflies that had just erupted in your throat. “I don’t know.”

Steve held his hands up and took a step back. “If you’re not comfortable with it, tell me, and I’ll go. I just… I need to make sure that you’re safe.”

“Not my place.”

You weren’t exactly sure why the location made a bit of difference. Maybe it was because you didn’t know Steve, not  _really_. He could have been some kind of crazy stalker, serial killer, but you doubted it. There was too much genuine kindness in his eyes shining down at you.

“Okay,” he agreed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Name the place.”


	4. Chapter 4

  
Steve stared out your window. “A diner,” he deadpanned, eyebrow arched. “You want to sober up at a diner.”

“I’m starving,” you announced, rushing to unbuckle the seatbelt. “Besides, they have damn good pie.”

“Wait,” he growled, going to grab your wrist but missing it completely. He slammed the gear shift into park and jogged after you into the diner that proclaimed to have the ‘best coffee in the state.’

You were leaning over the counter, standing on your toes, not caring that people might possibly be staring at your ass. When you found a menu, you gave an excited squeal and spun around as you stood. The air that had been in your lungs seized at the dark gleam in Steve’s eyes.

“I would appreciate it,” he started, gently grabbing your elbow and leading you to a booth, “if you didn’t run away like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you picked up the menu and held it so his perfect face was hidden. Shit, you had a difficult enough time being around him when you were sober, but drunk? All your insecurities boiled to the surface, making heat creep up your neck. Then there was what he said outside the cafe.

“You’re an amazing woman, Y/N, and I… I don’t want to ruin you.”

What the hell did that mean? If he meant it, why did he bother coming to the bar? Wait…

“How the hell did you know where I was?” you blurted out, your filter completely doused in alcohol.

“What do you mean?” he asked, brows knitted together. “You called me, remember?”

The menu was set on the table, your hands clasped together atop it. “I did. I also never said where I was.”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. With his jaw clenched, he swiped a finger across the screen. “Rogers.”

You choked on a laugh when he winced and held the phone several inches from his ear. There was only one person that could elicit that kind of reaction; Natasha Romanov. While Steve was busy, the waitress came over and took your order. She was completely transfixed by Steve, almost dropping her pencil several times.

“So,” you murmured. “How’s Nat?”

Steve shook his head as he slid the slim phone into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. “She warned me to be on my best behavior.”

“She threatened you,” you clarified.

“She threatened me,” Steve agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

At that moment, your phone chirped. It was a text from Nat, saying exactly what she had said, followed with several laughing emojis. You sent a quick reply, promising to tell her when you’d be leaving the diner.

“You two are close.” It wasn’t a question.

You sat back and took off your jacket, sighing happily as the cooler air skimmed over your arms. “She’s closer to me than most of my family. We’ve been through so much together that there’s nothing I can’t think of where we won’t be side-by-side.”

Steve hummed and nodded. “It’s good to have someone like that in your life.”

“You seem pretty close with your brother,” you offered, remembering the way they signaled each other at the bar.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged, dropping his eyes from your face to the paper mat on the table.

A blind person would have seen the rapid change in his demeanor, so you brought the conversation back to the start. “How did you know where I was?”

His wide shoulders shook as he fought back a laugh. “God, you don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it comes to the possibility that I might have a stalker. So… spill,” you ordered.

Steve looked at you, ocean-blue eyes drilling into yours. “I own a multi-million dollar telecommunications company. You tell me how I found out where you were.”

Narrowing your eyes playfully, you slapped at one of his hands. “You tracked my phone, you jerk.”

The waitress announced herself loudly, and it was clearly written all over her face, that she was pretending not to be interested. “Anything else I can get you right away?”

Steve didn’t even look at her when he dismissed her. “We’re good.”

You giggled after taking a long drink of your water. “Tell me, are you always that dismissive of the female variety?”

“Why do you ask?”

With a brow arched high, you stared at him. “You literally ran away from me, and that waitress, she’s been eyeing you since we got here.”

“I told you,” he groaned. “I don’t want to -”

“Ruin me,” you interrupted with a hard roll of your eyes. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Steve pulled in a ragged breath as his eyes closed. “I… I’m a complicated man, Y/N.”

“That explains absolutely jack,” you huffed.

“I can’t… it’s not…,” he stammered, struggling to find the right words. It wasn’t something he was used to, not having the exact answer. Steve strived to be in control in all aspects of his life, at all times. But at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to dive across the table and show you just how fucked up you would be if he were to let you into his life.

Sighing heavily, you went to rest a hand on his, and to your surprise, he didn’t pull away. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Steve. I’m sorry I keep pushing the issue. I just… for having just met you, I like you. I thought that maybe you felt the same.”

“I do,” he breathed, turning his hand over to hold yours. “In fact, I’m incapable of leaving you alone.”

“Then don’t,” was your raspy reply. You gave his hand a squeeze before abandoning it to eat.

A proud smile took control of his lips for a moment at the sight, and he seemed more than happy to spend the rest of the time at the diner in silence, but you had another question for him.

“Why did you send me the books?”

Steve took a long drink of his water before answering. “I owed you an apology for my behavior. Do you not like them?”

“God, no,” you blurted. “I love them. I… I can’t keep them, though.”

“What, why?”

You had to keep from laughing at the almost puppy-like look he wore, as if you had just kicked him or taken his favorite toy. “They cost entirely too much to be meant as an apology.”

He was shaking his head and looking at you intently. “You are not to return them to me, Y/N. They are yours.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t having it. “Not another word about it.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled under your breath.

When you rolled your eyes, you missed the way he shifted in his seat and gnawed on his bottom lip.

Nat was sitting on the couch when you got home. “You didn’t text.”

“Sorry, mom,” you groaned, kicking off the heels, not caring that one of them slapped into the wall loudly.

She said your name in a way that made you regret calling her mom. “You go off with someone we don’t even know -”

“And you were with his brother,” you added, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and drinking until your lungs burned. “I’m fine, Nat. See?” you spun in a circle, which was a really bad idea.

Nat was at your side in the blink of an eye. “Why are you spinning?”

“To show you that I am in one piece,” you sassed. “I think… I think I’m gonna pass out.”

She latched an arm around your waist and hauled you into your room, dropping you to your bed just as you fell asleep.

Once home, Steve headed straight for his room. Not his bedroom, but the room that was off limits to everyone except for himself and whoever he had entered into an agreement with. He closed the door behind him and locked it, closing himself off from Bucky, who was downstairs, had shaken his head and grumbled something under his breath.

In closing the door, he also closed out the voices, the ones that told him he didn’t deserve someone like Y/N. She wasn’t like the others, the needy women that begged to be controlled, that got off on the control he held over them. Steve was a man that demanded control in everything he did, whether it was his work life, or personal. But whenever he was around her, all of that control, every last bit of it started to disappear. He didn’t like the way it felt, the way it seemed to slip through his fingers like water, dripping off his knuckles, no matter how tight he squeezed his hand.

Steve wanted Y/N, and he wanted her so bad he felt the carnal need pulsing in the marrow of his bones. But he knew that his life - what he did in private - was not something that he would… subject her to. It was demanding, he was demanding of his submissives.

The phone in his pocket buzzed; Clint.

“Hey, brother,” Steve greeted, leaving the room and locking it behind him.

“Man, I think I’m in love,” Clint announced.

Steve could hear the smile in his voice. “Slow down, man. Who is it this time?”

“Nat, Y/N’s friend.”

Chuckling, Steve poured himself a drink. “She threatened to cut off my -”

“Balls, puree’ them and force you to drink them,” Clint interrupted. “You should’a seen her, man. She was… amazing.”

“You know, her and Y/N are really close.”

Clint took a pull from the cigar he was smoking. “And? It’s not like you need an in. She likes you.”

“It’s not that simple, Clint.”

Steve could practically hear his brother roll his eyes. “And you like her.”

“Damn it,” he growled. “It’s not -”

“That simple,” Clint finished Steve’s sentence. “You said that already.”

“Goodnight, Clint.” Steve disconnected the call before his brother could say anything else.

It was almost noon when you woke, your mouth dry as sand, your legs tangled in the sheets, and your skin slick with sweat. You had been dreaming of Steve between your thighs, buried to the hilt, making the most sensual sounds as he brought you to climax. It had felt so real, his beard as it burned your skin, the way he stretched you out, driving you higher and higher -

“Rise and shine,” Nat cooed as she opened your door.

“Lemme sleep,” you argued, rolling to your side, groaning low in your throat.

Your friend all out giggled. “Not happening, Y/N. We’re going out.”

“Why?” you asked, pushing up to your elbow.

She handed you a glass of water and three ibuprofen. “Get up, take a shower, and brush your goddamn teeth,” she chastised, making a face.

“Tell me where we’re going,” you demanded.

Nat shot a wink over her shoulder. “It’s a surprise.” She was out the door, effectively ending the conversation.

“Shit,” you moaned after draining the glass. There was no arguing with Natasha, you had learned that years ago, but damn it, you were hungover. With a resigned sigh, you stood on shaking legs and shuffled into the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint, Bucky, and Steve were in the kitchen; Steve putting together a late breakfast while Clint tried to get Steve to see his side of things.

“Getting out there, Steve, it’s good for you, man,” he insisted, hand wrapped around a large mug full of coffee. “Tell ‘im, Buck.”

“I’m just the hired help,” Bucky joked, knowing how much Steve hated it when he referred to himself as such.

Clint watched as his brother’s head shook. “Just come out with me and Nat,” he continued.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Steve said, his tone thick with irritation. “The two of you have come up with some scheme to get me and Y/N together.”

Clint had the audacity to look shocked when his brother turned around. “I would never -”

“Bullshit,” Steve shot back, spatula in hand, aimed directly and Clint.

Bucky broke out in laughter, his head tossed back, hand slapping on the countertop. “Jesus, man. Calm down.”

Steve shoveled food onto three plates and dispersed them with a glare. “I am calm.”

Clint and Bucky shared a look before erupting into laughter. It echoed through the apartment, reminding Steve of when the three of them were growing up, nary a care in the world. It was just the three of them, the Three Musketeers as Steve’s adoptive mom had dubbed them. They got into everything imaginable, and had a hell of a time while doing so.

“- get laid, is what you need,” Clint said matter-of-factly.

“No need to be crass about it,” Steve admonished his older brother.

Bucky was shaking his head. “Clint’s right, man. It’s been… what… one year since your last sub-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve warned, his tone almost as dark as his eyes.

He held up one hand in defense as he shoveled food into his mouth. “I’m just sayin’, Y/N isn’t going to wait around forever.”

“She is pretty awesome,” Clint added, barely able to hide a smile around the large bite of food.

Steve pulled in a deep breath before agreeing to go along with whatever plan Clint and the new love of his life had come up with. “As long as it’s not bowling.”

* * *

Turned out Natasha had scheduled a ‘best friend’ duo massage that lasted for two glorious hours. While fingers worked at the knots that had plagued you since… forever, a green mask was brushed onto your face and cucumbers were set over your closed eyes. You had never had so much attention lavished upon you, and by the time you were done, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk out on your own accord.

Natasha surprised you further by taking you to a late lunch where you drank mimosas and giggled like school girls as the two of you caught up with one another. Yes, you shared the same living space, but you were both college students, working hard on keeping your GPA and graduating. Your nights had been staying up until all hours, cramming and praying that you passed the finals.

“Nat, thank you so much for this,” you sighed, looping your arm in hers, dropping your head to her shoulder as the two of you walked away from the cafe.

She pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ve been needing to reconnect.”

“Ain’t that the truth. God, I can’t wait until the grades are back.”

“I told you, Y/N,” she said sternly. “You nailed those exams.”

You raised your head and gave a curt nod. “Yeah,” you agreed with a newfound determination. “I got this.”

 _“We_  got this,” she clarified, chuckling. A moment later, her phone started buzzing, so she pulled it from her pocket. “You ready for your real surprise?”

“Wait, wha-, I don’t… I don’t understand,” you stammered. “I thought that was -”

She shook her head, her freshly-curled crimson hair swishing around her face. “That? Oh God, no. That was a distraction. Your real surprise is five blocks that way.”

You followed the line of her finger as your brain calculated the layout of the neighborhood. “My surprise is the fucking bowling alley?”

* * *

Steve had his arms crossed as he eyed the various colored bowling balls. “I hate bowling,” he huffed.

Clint shook his head before Natasha caught his attention. “Something tells me you’re going to have a different attitude in about five seconds.”

“What do you -” Natasha was running over, giggling and jumping into Clint’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she kissed him.

“Oh, I see,” Steve grumbled as he grabbed a twelve-pound bright red ball.

“Is this as much of a surprise to you as it is to me?”

The sound of her voice made Steve jump. He set the ball on the ball return rack before facing Y/N.

“What a pleasant surprise it is,” he smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets. God, she was beautiful. It was as if she had absorbed the sun, she was downright glowing, and looking so damn refreshed and relaxed.

“I uh… thank you,” she murmured, fingers tangled together behind her back. “For last night. I was… embarrassingly drunk.”

Steve shrugged one of his shoulders. “I’m sorry for tracking your cell phone.”

“What was that?” Clint interrupted, a hand next to his ear. “Did my baby brother  _actually_  apologize?”

“Shuddup,” Steve snarled playfully, wrapping an arm around Clint’s shoulders as he raked his knuckles back and forth through his hair.

Y/N and Nat were giggling, hands over their mouths at the brotherly display, and Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Clint seized the opportunity and wriggled free of Steve’s death grip, jabbing him gently in the back, where his kidneys were. Clint and Steve exchanged a wink before Natasha asked for help picking out a ball.

“Truce?” Y/N proposed, her hand extended, slightly shaking.

Steve swallowed around the knot in his throat as he enveloped her hand in his. “Clean slate.”

* * *

You really hated bowling. Not because it was boring, you thoroughly enjoyed watching people play, but you weren’t all that good at it. While Clint and Steve had scores in the triple digits by the end of the first game, you had an embarrassingly low score of sixty-eight. Even with Natasha’s eighty-nine, she was kicking your ass.

Clint was already setting up the console for the next game when you grabbed Nat’s arm and pulled her away. “I fucking suck at this game,” you whispered at her harshly.

“We can see that,” she joked, winking at you before setting her sights on Clint.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re all heart eyes over Clint right now,” you grumbled. “Forget it.”

Rolling your eyes, you strode back to your lane and grabbed the ball. You didn’t have to be psychic to know where the ball was headed. It made a sickening thud as it hit the gutter, spinning as it rolled down the line. With your cheeks burning, you did it again, finishing your first frame.

“Can I just forfeit?” you asked Steve when you dropped into the seat next to him.

He just chuckled and shook his head. “Doesn’t work like that, doll.”

Doll. It was the sixth time he had called you that since claiming a truce between the two of you; not that you were counting. Every time the word left his lips, it rolled over you, sending electricity sparking down your spine. Steve could call you doll every minute of every day and it wouldn’t be enough.

“Well, why not?” you whined breathlessly as you crossed your legs. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed at the way your shirt shifted, revealing the swell of a breast. You took a mental picture and stored it away for another time.

Since calling the truce, Steve had been a little more relaxed around you. He was cracking jokes with his brother, laughing openly when Clint tried - and failed - to have a good comeback. It was a good look on the normally reserved CEO, and you didn’t know how to process the way it made you feel.

Before Steve could answer, Clint called his name. “Your turn,” he sassed, finger pointing at the freshly set up pins. Somehow, both Clint and Natasha had taken their turns while the two of you had been talking.

You watched as Steve rolled a strike. He turned around and held his arms open. “See? It’s not that difficult.”

“And just like that,” you growled, your brow arched. “I know how to bowl.”

Ignoring Natasha when she hissed your name, you took your stance and held the ball at your side. You were about to take your turn when Steve’s voice cut through your negative thoughts.

“No, don’t hold the ball like that,” he chastised gently. He was standing behind you, chest to your back, hunched over so his mouth is by your ear.

Steve maneuvered your hand so you were holding the ball correctly, but you weren’t paying any attention. You were hyper focused on the intoxicating mixture of spice and expensive leather, in the way his beard scuffs your skin, how perfectly pink and plump his bottom lip was.

“- like this, Y/N. It won’t go in the gutter.”

If there weren’t a group of butterflies in your stomach already, what Natasha said next made you want to disappear.  "That’s right Steve, tell her how to do it. She loves that.”

It was as if the sound and air was sucked out of the bowling alley. You heard Clint suck in a raspy breath in surprise, followed by a murmur of, “I  _knew_  it.”

And then there was Steve. The heavy hand that was on your hip flexed in a way that, despite the complete and utter embarrassment that was roaring through you, made you want to moan appreciatively. You managed to hold it back, just barely. Steve’s breath was puffing along your neck and down the scooped front of [ **your shirt**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2Funtitled_249%2Fset%3Fid%3D236611246&t=NDY5MWU2OWFiYTkyOTIwMDY0NWYyZjllZjMwNDQ5ZGMyOWExOThmNixsaHhhNjVrUg%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172383600294%2Fexecutive-decision-five&m=1). His entirety was overwhelming and distracting and it made you clench your thighs together.

A part of you wanted to smack Natasha for practically giving away a part of your life that was meant for the bedroom, it was private, not meant for anyone other than you and your significant other. Natasha knew about your submissive role just in case you somehow got involved with someone that took advantage of their dominant position.

You cleared your throat and dipped your chin, signaling that you were ready to take your turn. Steve’s hands stayed in contact with you for another moment before his grip relaxed, his nails scraping along the fabric of your dress as you stepped away. The heat your body had absorbed from his started to dissipate, and you were surprised at how badly you missed it.

With your teeth clenched, you took your turn, and watched in astonishment as the ball curved gracefully down the lane, knocking down all ten pins. You raised your arms over your head and turned to face Steve, who was wearing a grin that made you weak in the knees.

Natasha ran up and about knocked you to the ground. “Your first strike,” she cried, her arms holding you tight, pushing the air from your lungs. You held onto her and held Steve’s intense gaze. He looked so damn proud of you, but there, just beneath the surface, was something else, something raw and powerful. You wanted to find out what it was, but Natasha was slapping your ass in celebration.

That was how the rest of the night went. Steve helped you roll a strike or a spare, increasing your score until you had beaten Natasha. She was a good sport about it, for most of it, at least. Whenever she wasn’t paying attention to the game, she was draping her legs over Clint’s and they were kissing. Intensely. They were that couple that everyone around them hated.

When the third game had come to an end, your feet and back were sore, and there was a sheen of sweat on your forehead, between your shoulder blades, and at the small of your back. Natasha said she wanted to get some food and drinks, but you shook your head.

“I’m beat, Nat,”you groaned. “I just wanna go home.”

“Come on, Y/N,” she all out whined, tugging on your hand like a little kid. “It’ll be fun.”

You didn’t miss the way her eyes darted over your shoulder, or the aroused lilt to her voice. It would have been a blast, letting your inhibitions slip while around Steve, maybe even you’d get a chance to feel his beard on your skin, but then your brain reminded you exactly why you wanted to go home.

“Grades are published tomorrow.”

Nat pouted, but she didn’t push the matter. “Steve, you comin’ with me and Clint?”

“We’ll see,” he answered, his eyes watching as you stepped into your shoes.

“She’s not coming with,” Nat informed him, to which you glared at her over your shoulder.

“Yes, I’m a party pooper,” you sassed, spinning around on the ball of your foot.

You were too close to the edge of the landing, and your center of gravity wasn’t on its best behavior. You grabbed the balcony to steady yourself, but it was too late, your foot had already stepped out and you put your weight on it. Your ankle rolled as soon as your foot came into contact with the floor, and you gave a yelp of pain. Steve and Nat were by your side, watching as you hopped around on your other foot, muttering under your breath.

“Are you okay?” Steve implored, hands cupping your face.

Nat winced when she dropped to her knees and took hold of your ankle, prodding at it gently. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you ground out. You’d broken your ankle before, twice, the second one should have been surgically repaired, but you didn’t have insurance and your mother decided it would heal just fine. Needless to say, it didn’t heal properly, and the ligaments were weak.

Clint came over with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, which you took immediately. “Thank you,” you rasped, pain radiating up your leg.

“You’re welcome,” he responded. “You need a lift home?”

“I’ll take her,” Steve insisted. “You go and have a good time.”

“I can take a cab, Steve. It’s no big deal.” you tried arguing, but he wasn’t having it.

He was already effortlessly picking you up, one arm under your knees, the other behind your back, holding you to him. You felt his heart pounding against your side as you draped your arm over his wide shoulders.

“Decision has already been made,” Steve said with authority.

* * *

“I don’t live that far, so you won’t be out too much gas,” you assured him, wincing as you moved your foot.

Chris watched you from the corner of his eye as he drove. “I don’t care about that. I care about your safety and well-being.”

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You hardly know me.”

“That’s not true,” he disagreed with a smirk. “We just spent the last three hours bowling and having a good time, talking, getting to know one another. I mean, you had a good time, right?” He suddenly sounded so insecure, as if it were his fault that you might not have enjoyed yourself.

You turned to look at him and had to suck in a breath at the the way the passing lights reflected in his eyes and made his eyelashes seem even longer. There were several moles that you had somehow missed and you had to literally grip the edges of the leather seat to keep from reaching out and tracing a line from one to the other with your nail.

“Yes, Steve,” you rasped. “I had a great time.”

You could see his teeth when he smiled. “Me, too.”

The car slowed to a stop a handful of moments later, and before you could even open your door, Steve was out of the car and running around the front. As soon as he pulled open the door, he bent down and helped you maneuver your leg without further injuring yourself. With your hands in his, he pulled you from the car and went to pick you up again. Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and wrapped his arm around your back, settling your hand atop his on your hip. When he looked at you curiously, you reached out for his other hand. Thick fingers encompassed your hand and he held you firm, supporting you as you hopped up the steps to your apartment building.

“Thank you,” you murmured breathlessly. You unlocked the door and turned to say goodnight to Steve.

Steve gnawed on his bottom lip as he looked at you, his eyes darkening in a way that made heat pool between your legs. “Do you need help getting inside?”

“No, I can manage. I’m on the first floor, so no chance of falling on the stairs.”

He was nodding as he listened, his head cocked to the side, the outside light shining on his beard, showing you just how much more ginger than brown it was. “We can’t have you hurting yourself further, can we?”

You were shaking your head and, before you could stop yourself, answered, “No, sir.”

Steve crowded your personal space and tucked some hair behind your ear. “Y/N, I want to kiss you,” he announced, his voice low and thick.

“Kiss me,” you said, swearing that you heard him growl before he dipped his head.

The first brush of his lips was like a feather. It was his way of giving you time to change your mind, to back away and tell him to leave. So, when you let out a small sigh, Steve’s fingers pressed into the back of your neck and he covered your mouth with his. You grabbed at the front of his shirt, your nails threatening to tear the expensive fabric as Steve pushed his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was searing and sinful, full of promises he had every intent of following through on, even the dark and borderline dangerous ones.

He leaned you against the door, one hand cupping your cheek, the other on the small of your back, not an inch between your heaving chests. When you carded your fingers through his hair and tugged on the silken strands, Steve moaned into the kiss, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. His knee was right there, not quite pushed between your legs, but you could tell he wanted to, you could feel the restraint he had an iron grip on, keeping himself in check.

You wanted to rip the shirt from him and see how each corded muscle flexed beneath his skin, twitching with each movement, whether it be minute or something grand. His entire body was thrumming with raw power, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he weren’t to hold back. Just how strong and intense was Steve Rogers? Was he the dominant you had been needing?

As soon as the thought entered your mind, Steve pulled back and sucked in a series of stuttering breaths, his forehead on yours, your nails scraping through his beard. When he looked at you, his pupils lust-blown, consuming the azure irises, the breath caught in your throat.

“I should go,” Steve murmured, his thumb brushing the crest of your kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“Okay,” was all you could manage to say.

Steve smirked before kissing you once more. It was short and sweet, a firm press of his lips to yours, nothing more. He straightened your shirt, then his, ran a hand through his wayward hair, and descended the steps, giving you a wink before he got into the car. Steve waited until you disappeared into building before leaving.

How you managed to get into the apartment without hurting yourself further was a mystery to be solved another day. You grabbed a bag of frozen peas and a hand towel before hobbling into your bedroom where you undressed, shrugging into an old t-shirt after your bra was tossed to the side.

With the bag of peas on your ankle, you elevated your leg on a pillow, and sent off a quick text to Nat, letting her know you were home, and that yes, your ankle was being taken care of. You sighed heavily and fell back to your pillows, tracing your lips with your fingers as you relived the most amazing and sensual kiss of your life.

* * *

Once home, Steve poured himself a healthy serving of bourbon. He crossed the large room, stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed him to overlook the city. On a normal night, he’d be going over what needed to be taken care of the following day, how many meetings he had, what would be discussed, what plans would be quashed, who would be asking for an interview. Not tonight.

Tonight, his thoughts were filled with Y/N. He had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, march into her place, and devour her, leaving no part of her untouched, unmarked. He wanted her to scream his name so loud her throat would be raw, to come so hard she would blackout.

When Natasha let it slip that Y/N liked to be told what to do, Steve thought that maybe she was making fun of her friend, but the way she called him sir had his blood surging. Y/N was a submissive, a submissive without a dominant.

Just the thought of her doing as he commanded had him hard as a rock. Steve reached into the front of his pants and readjusted his cock, hissing at the contact. His body craved to have release, pulsing in the palm of Steve’s hand, fat beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip. Steve was about to stroke himself, but then he had another thought.

What if he didn’t? What if he were to control himself, keep it together long enough, until Y/N was asking for it, asking for him to fuck her? Could he do that?

Steve sneered as he released his aching cock, swallowing the amber liquid greedily as a sign of an agreement. He didn’t know if he had that level of control, but he was going to find out if it killed him.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting on the couch, ankle propped on the table, you were obsessively clicking the refresh button on the browser. Nothing. No grades had been posted, and they were supposed to have been up over an hour ago. You groaned as your head lolled back. After you saw your grade, you had every intention of going back to bed. You were sore in every place imaginable and there was a dull ache behind your eyes.

Clint shuffled out of Nat’s bedroom, closing the door quietly before he tugged on his shirt. He stopped when you turned to look at him. “Um, hi, Y/N,” he murmured, a coy smile tugging at his lips.

“Morning,” you chuckled. “Spent the night, I see.”

“Um, yeah. I hope that’s okay with -”

You waved your hand at him. “Nat’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

“That she is,” he quickly agreed. “I just don’t want anything to be awkward or uncomfortable for you.”

“Thank you, Clint. That’s thoughtful, but it’s all good.”

Scraping a hand over his face, he sat down on the chair. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better,” you answered, wiggling your toes. “Still sore, just not as bad as last night.”

“That’s good. Means it’s not broken.”

You felt his eyes on you as you clicked the refresh button for the hundredth time. “Come on,” you ground out.

“Everything okay?” he chuckled as he leaned back, resting his hands on his stomach.

Huffing through your nose, you hit the refresh button a little harder than necessary. “Just waiting to find out if I get to graduate. You know, no big deal.”

“I’d say it’s a very big deal,” Clint noted. “What do you plan on doing after graduation?” He was trying to keep your attention off the website, and you appreciated it.

You shifted on the couch, turning to face Clint. “In the long run, I want to open a publishing company. Shine the spotlight on local and new talent. There is so much untapped creative forces in the world, and we are missing out on it.”

“That’s impressive,” he noted, eyes going wide for a second.

“It’s insane, is what it is,” you chuckled. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had my nose in a book, sometimes reading two books in a day. And now, with the degree I am praying I receive, I’ll start looking for work as an editor’s assistant.”

“Why just an assistant?” He asked curiously.

With a shrug of your shoulder, you sighed. “No one wants to submit books to an editor without any clout. Especially new authors.”

“Fair point,” he agreed quietly.

“Are you adopted as well?” you blurted out, clapping a hand to your mouth immediately afterwards. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

Clint laughed and shook his head. “It’s okay, Y/N. You’re not the first one to ask, and you won’t be the last. Yes, I’m adopted. It’s just me and Steve, though.”

“What happened to um, your uh… how did you -”

“My birth parents were too young at the time,” he explained. You thought he would have sounded remorseful while he talked about them, but there wasn’t anything to be sad about. “- up for adoption. Five years later, they adopted Steve.”

You were doing the math in your head, but your brain seemed incapable of figuring out how old Clint was. He seemed to figure out what was going on, and supplied you with the answer.

“I’m thirty-two.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes at your incompetence. “Thanks. While we’re on the subject of Steve,” you started laughing when Clint perked up and gave you a wide smile.

“What would you like to know?” he asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

You were wringing your hands together in your lap. “Is… is he -”

You couldn’t very well ask if Steve was a dominant. That wasn’t something one shared with their family. Or did they? Nat knew you were a submissive, and she only found out because of what happened with Brock a couple years ago. Ever since then, you’d stayed out of a relationship, had never even thought about pursuing another one, and then Steve fricking Rogers entered your life. He had you rethinking everything about where you stood on seeking out someone that would be in control of you, giving you commands, denying you pleasure; whatever his heart desired, you would do your best to fulfill his every wish.

A blush had started to creep up your neck. “Forget it.”

Clint pushed up from the couch and crossed the room in two strides. He sat down next to you and covered your hands with one of his. “Y/N, my brother likes you, a lot,” he assured you gently. “More than he’s ever liked anyone. And I mean  _anyone._ ”

“But I’m not even anywhere near being in his social circle,” you tried arguing. It was a weak argument, and you knew it, but you also knew how things worked.

With his brow arched, Clint gripped your chin and forced you to look at him. His eyes were flashing in a way that Steve’s had been last night, and you briefly wondered if Clint was like his brother.

“That means nothing to Steve, to me, to our family,” he said sternly. “If you’ve got questions about anything… any aspect of his life, ask him, okay? He’ll tell you anything.”

You nodded, pushing your chin into Clint’s fingers. “That’s a good girl,” he praised, pressing a friendly kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna run and grab some coffee. You want one? It’s on me.”

“Please,” was your simple answer.

When Clint left, you had every intention of turning your attention to the laptop, looking for the grades, but your mind was whirling around, there was some new information you needed to process, and that was what you had started to do when your cell rang.

“Y/N,” someone shouted. “You did it!”

“What? Who is this?” you asked in a state of confusion.

He sounded hurt when he answered. “Y/N, it’s me, Pietro.”

“Shit,” you murmured. “I didn’t recognize your voice. I’m sorry, Pietro.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but you knew he was lying. “Did you see? The grades are posted. You did it!”

You about dropped the phone when you lunged for the laptop, refreshing the page with a tap of your middle finger. “Holy shit,” you rasped. “I did it!”

“That’s amazing,” Pietro praised, clapping his hands excitedly. “I am so proud of you.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t held your share of troubles over the last four years. The tumultuous relationship with Brock had been incredibly difficult for you, not just to get through, but to try and get over it. You had been beyond lucky that Natasha hadn’t judged you for your sexual lifestyle, rather, she was curious about it herself, asking questions, doing her research into what a healthy dominant / submissive sexual relationship was like. She held your hand and did everything in her power not to let you go.

“- or something?” Pietro’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“I uh, I missed that,” you stammered, heart hammering in your chest, pride pumping through your veins. You did it. You were going to graduate with honors.

“Did you want to go out tonight and celebrate?” he reiterated, his accent slightly thicker than before.

Your heart lurched at the memory of Pietro wanting to kiss you the other night. “I can’t, Pietro, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he sighed. “Some other time, yeah?” Pietro had been a good friend over the years, the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him, but you didn’t feel the same way about him that he felt about you.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you murmured, “We’ll see. Listen, I’ve gotta go and make some calls.”

“Yeah, no… I get it. Goodbye, Y/N.”

You shook your head sadly when the call disconnected, but it washed away quickly when you found Phil’s number, connecting it with your thumb.

“Mornin’, punk,” your stepfather greeted with a smile.

“Hey, pops. Want to hear some amazingly incredibly great news?” you giggled.

Phil chuckled as he answered, “You’re graduating?”

“With honors, dad,” you sighed heavily. “I did it.  _We_ did it,” you clarified.

Your stepfather had been there for you when no one else had, when your mother had grown tired of the perfect suburban life and ran off to Reno. It was Phil that kept a roof over your head, food in your belly, and clothes on your back. He was the one that stayed up with you when there was a test to study for.

He was there for your first boyfriend, and for the fallout of your relationship with Brock. Phil didn’t know anything about your sexual lifestyle. All he knew was that Brock had put his little girl in the hospital after whipping her unconscious.

“I’m so proud of you, kid.”

“Thanks, dad. Are you able to make it out for graduation?”

Money was tight while growing up, but five years ago, Phil had hurt his back on the job. He got a nice settlement out of it, but that barely covered the legal fees and hospital bills. He was working thirty hours a week at the hardware shop, barely scraping by.

Phil hummed as he mulled it over. “I’ll do my best, Y/N/N.”

“I know you will,” you sighed ruefully. “I gotta tell Nat the news, okay? I love you, dad.”

“Love you, too.”

You pushed off the couch and stood with a low groan before hobbling into Nat’s bedroom. She had just reached over to snap on the lamp when you opened the door.

“We did it, Nat,” you hollered, scaring your friend so bad, she threw a pillow at you. You dropped onto the bed and curled into her, pressing a kiss into her cheek.

“Proud of you,” she said, sleep thick on her tongue.

Giving her a big squeeze, you announced that you were, “Going to make a call.”

“It better be Steve,” Natasha teased, giving your ass a slap as you stood.

You stuck your tongue out at her and almost ran into Clint when you limped down the hall. Hissing an apology, you grabbed the cup he was holding in his left hand, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and dropped back onto the couch. You were dialing Steve’s number before you could think twice about it.


	7. Chapter 7

The restaurant Steve insisted on having the celebration dinner at was fancy, fancier than any place you’d ever even dreamed of going to. So much so, that you were about to blow the dust from your credit card and pay too much money for a dress, but Nat put a stop to that.

“Here,” she said, handing you one of her [ **dresses**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FZHu9VoS.jpg&t=NTExOGRiMDkzNjFlOWI0YTk3ODJhOTU1ODM0NjEzYzJkODIwODI0YSxmYVlSYllKag%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172454309844%2Fexecutive-decision-seven&m=1). Natasha’s parents weren’t obscenely rich, but they were well off.

You were shaking your head even as you reached out to touch the fabric. “I… Nat, no. I can’t. It’s… God, it’s fucking gorgeous.”

“And it will look amazing on you,” she insisted, hauling you into her room to help you into it.

You emerged from her room an hour later, your hair swept back into a low knot, natural-looking makeup applied, and a pair of comfortable ballet flats on your feet. Your ankle was still a bit sore, so you had wrapped an ace bandage around it.

Steve was the first one to see you, and if his jaw could have literally dropped to the floor, it would have. His eyes were wide and roaming over you, drinking you in, the gleam in his eyes making your stomach flip lazily. You suddenly felt nervous and flattened your hands against your stomach.

“Do I… is it okay?” you asked, throat suddenly dry, eyes flicking from Steve’s face to Clint’s, from his to Natasha’s.

“I told you it was your color,” Nat insisted playfully.

Clint was nodding in agreement. “Definitely a winner in my book.”

And then there was Steve. He adjusted the tie at his throat before crossing the room. Once in front of you, he took your hands in his and brushed his lips against your knuckles.

With a wicked smirk, he looked at you through his lashes and said loud enough for only you to hear, “Doll, I could eat you alive.”

You sucked in a breath and felt crimson color your cheeks. “I uh… yeah… that sounds -”

Steve winked before standing tall, your jacket suddenly appearing in his hands. “Let’s go. We don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“What, you didn’t bring your helicopter?” Clint joked, helping Nat with her jacket.

You looked at Steve over your shoulder. “You have a helicopter?”

“No,” Steve scoffed, his fingers squeezing your shoulders. “I have three.”

* * *

The second course had been taken away and you were tapping out. “I can’t eat anymore,” you protested, hand on your stomach, tight smile on your lips.

Natasha mirrored your actions. “Don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“Not even if involved decadent dark chocolate?” Clint plucked the dessert menu from the center of the table and showed Nat what he had in mind.

Steve laughed at the way Natasha perked up at the mere mention of chocolate. “You think you have room for some dessert?” His arm was draped over the back of your chair, fingers flexing against your upper arm.

You hummed as you turned to look at him. “What kind of dessert did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you want, doll,” he purred, his eyebrow jumping up.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you moved in your seat and pressed your hand to his face, pulling him down for a light kiss. “All in good time, Steve,” you promised against his lips, knowing he would understand what you meant.

“Get a room,” Clint teased, throwing his napkin across the table.

You were laughing as you threw it back. “You first.”

The waitress came back with fresh drinks. “Will anyone be ordering dessert tonight?”

“Why the hell not?” you chuckled, pointing out a difficult-to-pronounce [ **Kouign-amann**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thisisinsider.com%2Fbest-desserts-france-2017-2%2315-kouign-amann-16&t=M2Y5YzQ4YmQxYzRmMWQ2MTM0MjE0ZTRlMGM0YWFmNTJjNDQ5N2Y1MSxmYVlSYllKag%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172454309844%2Fexecutive-decision-seven&m=1). Natasha ordered the decadent chocolate dessert that Clint had pointed out.

When the waitress departed, you grabbed Steve’s hand. “Thank you, for all of this.”

Steve raised your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. “You deserve it, Y/N, and so much more.” His tone was low and seductive, making you tremble under the weight of it.

You were about to say something when Nat got your attention. “Hey, come with me for a minute.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, brows furrowed at the way she was looking at you.

She didn’t say anything, just stood and straightened the front of  **[her dress](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-Wk0Y2ErYfbE%2FWr_XHNKFxJI%2FAAAAAAACglQ%2FtlZ3Y4sthrUu7ZauSdQVT6K5YMLYuY7LQCL0BGAYYCw%2Fh512%2F2018-03-31.jpg&t=NWU5YjNkNjA4NzIzYWFmMThhN2M2YmJmN2YzMjk4YWM4M2JmYTkwNyxmYVlSYllKag%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172454309844%2Fexecutive-decision-seven&m=1).** Smiling tightly at Steve, you excused yourself and followed her across the restaurant. She didn’t stop until the two of you were in the powder room.

“What’s going on, Nat?” you breathed, your stomach rolling.

Nat pulled her phone from her purse and showed it to you. “Your mom, she’s blowing up my phone.”

You took it from her with shaking hands and scrolled through the text messages, each one more annoying than the previous. “God, she doesn’t let up, does she?”

“Call her back,” she instructed gently. “I’ll be here.”

Nat knew exactly how manipulative your mother was, and she wasn’t afraid to tell the matriarch how she felt. Needless to say, your mother didn’t appreciate the fact that the two of you were best friends, and that you had chosen to stay there, living in Brooklyn, instead of close to her.

Blowing out a breath, you pressed the call button and put the phone to your ear. It rang a handful of times before her shrill voice made you wince.

“It’s about goddamn time you pick up a phone.”

“Hi, mom,” you greeted. “Is everything alright?”

She laughed coldly before answering. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know. I’m not the one texting my best friend relentlessly.”

There was that laugh again, the one that made you cringe. “If you would answer yours, I wouldn’t have to text… that girl.”

You rolled your eyes painfully hard. “Her name is Natasha, mom, and she’s my friend. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t -”

“Oh,  _you_  would appreciate it, huh?” You could hear as she poured herself a drink. “How about what I would appreciate? I’m your mother, for Christ Sake. I carried you in my body for nine months.”

“Mom, what do you want?” You snapped, desperate to get the call over with so you could go back to Steve.

She scoffed at your tone. “Phil called, said you’re graduating with honors.” Ah, there it was. The thick tone of jealousy she always had when talking about your stepdad.

“I am,” you concurred.

“And you couldn’t call me?!” she shrieked. Natasha spun around from the mirror where she was touching up her lipstick.

You swallowed at the knot in your throat. “It’s been a busy day,” was all you said.

“I’m your  _mother_ ,” she cried out, louder than before.

“And I am a grown adult,” you ground out, tears pricking your eyes. “I do not need to call you every time something happens.”

“Y/N, this isn’t something minor like when you got the lead in the sixth-grade play,” she patronized.

You sniffled and rolled your eyes again. “Which you didn’t come to.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “It was ‘Our Town.’ It’s been done thousands of times before.”

“You never showed up for anything, mom,” you continued, tears breaking past the weak defense of your eyelashes. “You’re not even coming to my graduation.”

She was silent for a beat. “We’ve already discussed the reason why.”

“And it’s bullshit! Everything I’ve ever accomplished or been excited about, you’ve always had a reason not to show up, and I’m sick of it,” you ranted, not caring about the way several women looked at you as they passed through.

“You do not get to talk to me like that,” she gasped. “I did the best I could. There’s a reason I left Phil.”

You blew out a stuttering breath when Natasha grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “You left because being married to a man that wouldn’t let you take advantage of him wasn’t what you wanted. You left because you didn’t have the perfect daughter you’d always wanted.”

“I loved Phil. He just -”

“What, mom?” you cried. “He wouldn’t stand idly by while you berated me for choosing to play baseball over getting my hair curled and colored? You don’t know the meaning of the word love.”

“Now, just wait a minute,” she screeched. You could picture the way her eyes always bugged out, the veins on her temples pulsed, and how she would ball her hands into fists in an attempt to keep from slapping you across the face.

You shook your head and honest-to-God stomped your foot. “No, mom. I’m done waiting.”

Someone knocked on the door and poked their head in. It was Steve, and he was wearing a worried look. “You okay, doll?”

You spun around to face him and embarrassment made your skin flush. “I’m fine,” you lied expertly.

“Who’s that?” she once again demanded, her voice so shrill you had to pull the phone away from your ear. “You got a boyfriend now?”

Not caring that the powder room was connected to the women’s bathroom, Steve came in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, mom,” you rasped.

Steve gave you a small smile. “Hang up the phone,” he instructed gently, his hand held out to take it from you.

“Jesus, Y/N. You don’t tell me anything anymore. What is wrong with you?”

At that, your eyes went wide and anger surged through you. “There is  _nothing_ wrong with me. I don’t tell you anything anymore because you don’t care about anyone other than yourself. You’re as self-absorbed as they come, and I don’t want that in my life. I don’t… I don’t deserve it.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and disconnected the call right as she screeched your name. Your hand was shaking as you handed the phone to Steve, who then handed it to Nat.

“I… I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t… didn’t know she… I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Steve pulled you into his chest, crushing you to him with his arms. He pressed kisses to the top of your head when you latched your arms around him, your nails digging into his jacket. “You didn’t ruin anything, doll. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

* * *

The dress Natasha had loaned you was hanging back in her closet soon after Steve escorted you home. While you pulled on a shirt that fell to your knees, washed your face, and let your hair down, Steve waited in the living room, on the large couch, shoes kicked off, tie loosened, jacket laid over the back of a chair.

You came out sat next to him, on the edge, head hung, hands wringing together. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“No, doll,” he argued, his hand moving up and down your back, the heat of it seeping into your skin. “You have no reason to apologize.”

“I ruined the night,” you hiccuped, tears once again streaking down your face.

With his large hand on your hip, he tugged you into his side, tipped your head back with his other hand, and brushed a kiss to your lips. “You did no such thing, Y/N.”

“But I did,”  you continued weakly. “If I hadn’t… she just… I don’t -” you didn’t finish because Steve was kissing you, just a firm press of his lips on yours, a moan in the back of his throat. When he pulled back, you chased his lips, your hand on his chest, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

“No more apologies about it, okay?” Steve said, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

You wanted to agree with him, to tell him that you’d stop, but that wasn’t the kind of person you were. You were raised to believe that everything was your fault, even if it was something as silly as someone stubbing their toe or when they get pulled over for drifting over the white line on the way home from playing bingo.

Steve tipped his head. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You chuckled ruefully and shook your head. “That’s a story for another night.”

“Promise you’ll tell me?” he asked, his hand once again working up and down your back.

With a small smile, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, relishing in the way he leaned into you, in the way his beard bit into your skin, and the way his eyes fluttered closed, his long lashes fanning against his skin.

“Sure,” was your answer. You curled into him, your head on his chest, your hand on his stomach, and that was how you fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve watched her sleep, not because he couldn’t sleep himself, but because he wanted to make sure nothing more happened to Y/N. He had this innate need to protect her at all costs, no matter what that entailed.

Y/N shifted against his side, her lips parting as her head lolled back, eyes skimming back and forth. He pushed the hair from her face, traced along the shell of her ear with his thumb, then the line of her jaw, and finally the column of her neck. She was so beautiful, it made his heart skip a beat. It sounded corny, but it was the truth; from the minute he saw her, he knew she was special and different. He just hadn’t realized how much.

His last relationship had been one hell of a roller coaster, so much so, that when people had started asking questions about when they were going to get engaged, Steve buckled under the constant pressure and started looking at rings.

A part of him would always wonder what it would have been like if he and Sharon had stayed together, but the day he found her in bed with another man, he knew he had to sever all ties with the woman, and not a day had passed that he didn’t regret doing so.

From that moment on, he buried himself in work; acquisitions and mergers, charity functions and press conferences. Before he could even blink, a year had flown by, and Y/N was literally falling into his office. It felt as if he had taken his first breath the moment she looked up at him. He wanted her, and he wanted her in every dark and carnal way he could take her. He could feel it, the familiar ache of a feeling so strong and intense, there was no use fighting it, he just had to buckle down, and enjoy the ride.

Steve was so lost in watching Y/N, he didn’t remember falling asleep.

* * *

The colors of the rising sun were on your face, pulling you from unconsciousness one nerve at a time. It started in your toes and fingers, twitching, muscles stretching almost painfully from sleeping on the couch. Then it was in your calves and thighs, your back, and finally, your arms, raised over your head, a small gasp leaving your lips. Steve’s hand flexed against your hip, reminding you of his presence, even though he was sleeping.

When you pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek, you had every intention of going into the kitchen to make some coffee. Needless to say, when Steve’s arm snaked around your waist, holding you to him, you sucked in a gasp of surprise, your hands planted on his chest, legs straddling his.

“Morning,” he hummed against your lips before kissing you.

Your protests were weak. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t care,” was his gruff answer, and then his teeth were on your bottom lip, tugging, urging you to open your mouth.

Heat coursed through you at the way he kissed you; it was greedy and urgent, dominating your senses. His hands were on your back and in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You pushed your knees into the couch and scraped your nails through his thick hair, pulling gasps and moans from the man beneath you.

When his hands fell to your hips, you thought he would just rock you against him, but he reached around, grabbed the globes of your ass, and pulled you into him so you could feel the thick outline of his cock. Arousal was dampening your panties and your entire body was buzzing; every part of you wanted to free his cock and ride him, but two things happened at once.

Your phone rang and a memory of Brock flashed in your mind.

With your hands on Steve’s chest, you pushed back and sucked in a stuttering breath. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“Are you okay, doll? You’re shaking.” He worked his hands up and down your goosebump-covered arms.

You shook your head as you said, “Yeah, fine. I just… my phone.” Pushing off his lap, you sat on the edge of the couch and grabbed your phone from the table. It wasn’t a number you recognized, but you swiped your finger across the screen, accepting the call.

“Hello?” you rasped tremulously, your hand pressed to your chest.

There was a low chuckle that made your heart stop. “How’s my girl?”

A cold sweat washed over you and you could feel the blood drain from your face. “B… B… Brock? What do… why are…. You can’t be calling me.”

Your ex-dominant hummed in response. “I saw you in the paper this morning, Y/N, and shit, you looked fucking incredible last night.”

“Last night?” you rasped, tears pricking your eyes as you shoved away from the couch and lurched across the apartment. You ripped open the door and yanked the New York Post from the welcome mat.

Steve was behind you, closing the door after he took a look both ways down the hall. He watched as you slapped the paper onto the counter and flipping through the pages.

“Page six, Y/N,” he whispered, and it made your stomach roll.

Your hands were shaking as you turned to the page number provided, and sure enough, there was a half-page picture of you and Steve, freshly emerged from his town car, the pair of you smiling wide.

> _At thirty years old, Steve Rogers is a multi-millionaire, and the CEO of Rogers Tech, the youngest to hold the title since the company was founded in the late 1880’s. While he has had success with the most recent acquisition of Stark Communications, Mr. Rogers has been quite unlucky in the romance department. However, it appears things are turning around._
> 
> _Last night, he was seen outside of ‘ **[Per Se](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.thomaskeller.com%2Fperseny&t=MDRkNWI3MDhkMDljYTE0OGYzNTZkZDI0ZmJkYmIwNWYzMzc0ZDQzZCxKeEJ1Q2hYSQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172527307289%2Fexecutive-decision-eight&m=1)’**  with an unidentified young woman. One of the diners said that they looked like they were watching a love story unfold right before their eyes. The pair were said to be holding hands and kissing throughout their meal, sitting in close proximity with one another up until dessert._
> 
> _However, there have been a few comments regarding how the night ended. His date was overheard having a heated conversation and was later spotted crying while Steve tried to console her._
> 
> _Any requests for a comment have been denied._

“That… that’s not me,” you tried to argue, even though you knew he could tell when you were lying.

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N,” he snarled with barely restrained rage.

Once Steve was done reading over your shoulder, he dug out his phone and, sure enough, there were an alarming number of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages. He was about to shove the phone into his pocket when it rang. It was his mother, and he knew better than to ignore her.

“What was the last thing I said to you, huh?” His gritty voice made you want to throw up.

“I don’t remember, Brock,” you murmured. “I was unconscious.”

With a sigh, he said, “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for not listening.”

“No,” you argued through your teeth. “You’re a fucking psychopath, Brock. You were the one that wouldn’t listen. You abused your position over me!”

At that, Steve whirled around. “I’ll call you back, ma.”

“Listen here, you ungrateful bitch,” he snarled, undoubtedly spitting while he raged. “You were a weakling when I found you.”

“I was eighteen, Brock,” you reminded him for the hundredth time.

The line went silent for a moment, and when Brock came back, he was calm. “‘ _If I can’t have you, no one can_.’ That was the last thing I said to you. Ring a bell?”

Your legs were shaking so bad, you were surprised you weren’t on the floor. “I’m not a possession to be had, Brock.”

“You’re mine. One way or another, you’re going to see it my way. I’ll see you soon,” he cooed before disconnecting the call.

Steve was at your side, turning you around to face him. “Y/N, who is Brock?”

Your mind was a jumble of memories, both genuine and reconstructed, and it was too much. It was difficult to focus on any one thing, your eyes were darting around Steve’s face and shirt, your nails digging into your palm of one hand, the other squeezing the phone so hard you thought you heard it crack. The breath was tearing in and out of you and the walls, shit, the walls were closing in on you.

Steve knew an anxiety attack when he saw one. Bucky’s honorable discharge came less than one month after his third tour of Afghanistan, and his PTSD was off the charts. Steve did everything he could to help his best friend; medication, therapists, meditation, both in and out patient programs. He had seen him at the lowest of the lows, flying high, and everything in between.

“Breathe,” he instructed, his hands cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. “I need you to breathe, Y/N.”

Your teeth and lungs ached, but you didn’t do as you were told. The last thing you wanted to do at that moment was bend to the will of a man, even if you were falling for him.

Steve’s brow arched when he said it again. “No, you don’t get to shut down on me like this. You need to fucking breathe, and not because I want you to.”

Shit, he was right. With your chin quivering, your eyes rolled back as you sucked in a ragged breath.

“Again,” he said, less harsh than before.

Your hands loosened as you pulled in another breath, and another, the white-hot rage had started to dissipate.

“Good. That’s a good girl,” he praised, pushing a kiss to your forehead.

Once the breath wasn’t hitching in your throat, he asked, “You want to talk about it?”

“No, but if you really want this,” you motioned between the two of you, “then I have to.”

Steve was standing because he couldn’t sit down, he was too anxious, and you were sitting because you couldn’t stand, not on shaking legs. He waited until you were ready to tell him what had happened between you and Brock.

“As I’m sure you’ve managed to work out,” you started, voice soft and unsure. “I’m a submissive.”

“I have,” he confirmed, hands shoved into the pockets of his silk pants. “And I’m sure you’re deduced that I’m a dominant.”

You couldn’t stop the corner of your lips from pulling up. “I have.” Before diving into the dark and gritty details of your relationship with Brock, you added, “I like you, Steve, a lot. And if you don’t want to be with me after hearing the truth, well… I understand.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just nodded his head once and waited. It took you five minutes to say anything.

“Brock was my dominant for almost two years. I met him one day, early into my freshman year, and we just… God, this sounds so stupid now. We clicked. He was so nice and sweet and supportive of my degree, of what I wanted to do after graduation. The sex was… incredible. That was all in the beginning,” you scoffed, scraping a hand over your face roughly.

You chanced a glance at Steve, and nothing much about him had changed. He wore a stoic expression, though he was clenching his jaw and his eyes were dark. You could see the tension in his shoulders, but you didn’t focus on it, because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to keep talking.

“It was after a year that he changed. He was keeping secrets, he was possessive, not letting me go anywhere if he didn’t approve it, he was jealous for no reason, paranoid, and then, one night, he got  _really_ drunk.” You had to stop for a minute, work on your breathing, get your heart to slow down.

“He… he uh,” you shifted in your seat, craning your neck to stretch out the spasm, “threatened to kill me if I left him.”

“So you stayed,” Steve murmured darkly.

Your eyes were full of tears when you looked at him. “I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. I held out hope that he would change after that, but nothing I did was good enough for him. He couldn’t… get off, and it was all my fault, said if I’d let him go rougher, harder, that maybe he could look past the fact that I wasn’t pretty anymore.”

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes fell to your bouncing leg. “So… I did, I let him take things further. I… in spite of what he had been like before, I trusted him. He was my dominant, he swore he’d never hurt me.”

Steve was in front of you, on his knees, between your legs, his hands on your damp face. “Dominants are never to hurt their submissives, Y/N,” he breathed.

“He beat me,” you finally admitted, your chin quivering, bile rising in your chest. “He whipped me until I passed out.”

You could feel the anger rolling through Steve, it was unbridled and dangerous, but his fingers didn’t dig into your flesh, something you made a mental note of.

“Nat found me, took me to the hospital, and called the police.”

“When did this happen?” he asked, voice low and gritty.

You sniffled and wiped a hand over your face. “Two years ago, and I haven’t been able to be with anyone since.” You watched the anger drain from his expression.

“Oh, doll,” he murmured, pressing his lips to yours. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do it to me,” you chuckled ruefully.

“And I never will,” Steve promised, staring at you with crystal eyes.

Your heart started to stutter in your chest at the realization of his words. “I’m damaged goods, Steve,” you tried dissuading him.

Wearing a gentle smile, he repeated your words to Brock earlier. “You’re not a possession,Y/N. And I will never,  _ever_  treat you as such.”

A sob escaped you at that point and Steve pulled you into him as he maneuvered himself onto the couch, dragging you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and wept openly. It had felt good to tell someone about it, someone that wasn’t Nat or someone that would judge you. Steve was someone that understood the sexual lifestyle.

* * *

“I’m damaged goods, Steve,” she tried arguing, giving him an out, should he want one. Only one problem with that, he was invested, there was no way he could walk away. Not then. Not ever.

“You’re not a possession,Y/N. And I will never,  _ever_  treat you as such,” he reassured her, because that’s not what happened in a healthy relationship of any kind.

Steve watched as she shattered and it made his heart lurch in his chest. Before he could think about it, he was pulling her into him as he moved into a sitting position on the couch. She was in his lap, her knees drawn up, pressing into his side, her arms around his neck as she wept. He held onto her tight, securing her to his chest with an arm around her upper back, the other around her waist, fingers in her other side, digging in, but not too deep, just a reassurance that he was there, and that he would always be there.

He wanted to find Brock and choke the life out of him with his own bare hands, but on the other hand, he wanted to do nothing more than spend the rest of his life showing Y/N how amazing she was, shower her with love and affection, what a healthy dom / sub relationship was like; all the things she deserved in life.


	9. Chapter 9

Graduation day had finally arrived. After four long and agonizing years, your hard work had paid off; you were graduating with honors, and good goddamn, did you feel proud of yourself. The ceremony was slightly longer than it should have been, but that could have had something to do with the way most of the women reacted as Steve gave his speech.

His azure eyes were twinkling in the sunlight and a mischievous smirk tugged at his lips when he found you in the front row. You had to work hard at not letting anyone see just how much he was affecting you. His voice was thick and rich as it came through the speakers, washing over you, adding fuel to the fire of your already rampant imagination.

When you had broken down and told Steve about Brock, Steve admitted something to you.

“I like you, a lot,” he said, repeating your earlier statement. “And I want to be with you. We will go on your clock. Whenever you’re ready to take it to the next level, I’ll wait for you, doing only what you are comfortable with, and not a moment before.”

You were pretty sure that was the moment you fell in love with Steve Rogers.

Hearing someone shout your name, you whirled around. “Dad,” you chuckled. You ran towards him and gave him a big hug.

“I… I thought you couldn’t make it.” God, he was a sight for sore eyes.

Phil shrugged and pressed a kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “I wasn’t, but a friend of yours called, said the tickets were taken care of, all I had to do was show up.”

“Which friend?” you asked suspiciously.  

“Some fella named Steve,” he answered with an arched brow.

You had thought it was Natasha, so when you heard Steve, you took a step back. “Wait… what?”

As if out of nowhere, the man in question appeared at your side, his hand held out to Phil. “Glad you could make it, Mr. Coulson.”

“Call me Phil,” he said, shaking Steve’s hand in greeting. “You really didn’t have to buy me a ticket.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning to look up at him sternly.

Steve winked as he chuckled. “I wanted to surprise Y/N, and you being here means a lot to her.”

“Well,” Phil said, looking at you. “I appreciate it. I’ll pay you -”

“No need, Phil,” Steve interrupted, shaking his head. “Seeing Y/N happy is all the payment I need.”

You watched the look on your dad’s face as recognition washed over him. “You… you look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I would remember meeting the man that is responsible for the amazing woman next to me,” Steve chuckled, has arm resting on your shoulders.

“Ah, yeah, I haven’t exactly told him,” you whispered, your arm automatically wrapping around his waist.

Phil’s eyes flicked back and forth. “Oh, okay, so, you two,” he murmured, and in that moment, you saw the last puzzle piece fall into place. “Oh, my God. You’re Steve Rogers, the commencement speaker, and CEO of Rogers Tech.”

Steve chuckled and dipped his head in confirmation. “I am.”

Your dad chuckled under his breath. “Your mother is going to lose her shit.”

“Dad,” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Listen, I know about the last phone call,” Phil said, stepping closer to you. “You stood up to her, and I’m damn proud of you.”

Tears pricked your eyes at his words. “Dad, stop it.”

“No, kid,” he announced, pulling you away from Steve’s side and into his arm, hugging you tight. “You’ve done everything exactly the way that you wanted, not the way she did.”

You were crying softly into his shoulder. “I think that’s a testament to who raised me.”

Phil gave you one last squeeze and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Stop it.”

Natasha’s giggles were growing louder, thanks to Clint, who had her on his back, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands under her thighs.

“Y/N,” she shrieked. “We’ve done it!”

As soon as she slid from Clint’s back, she launched herself at you and squeezed the breath from your lungs. You heard the introductions Steve made to his brother, followed quickly by an announcement about dinner, assuring Phil that it was on him, no questions asked.

* * *

Back at Steve’s apartment, you were sipping on a glass of wine, and watching Steve as he started a fire. “Thank you,” you murmured, smiling softly.

“For what?” he asked, looking at you with kind eyes.

“My dad, flying him out here. You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to,” he repeated for the tenth time since the graduation ceremony. He finished with the fire and poured himself some bourbon before taking a seat next to you. “Besides, making you happy is all I want to do.”

You leaned into his hand as he cupped your face and kissed his wrist. “Why? I’m nothing… no one special,” you lamented.

Steve took a drink before placing his glass on a coaster. He then took the wine glass from your hand and set it next to his. With his hand heavy on your thigh, he brushed his nose against yours, his eyes drilling into yours when he said, “You’re special to me, Y/N.”

And then his lips were on yours, sweetly kissing you, drawing gasps from the back of your throat. Quick kisses gave way to passionate ones, thickening the air surrounding you. You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, driving your tongue along his, tasting the aged liquor, growing drunk off his kisses. Steve growled low in his throat as his arm went behind your back. He pivoted in his seat, moving you with him, so that when he placed you on your back, he was settled between your thighs.

“Steve,” you murmured against his lips, his thick and hard body moving against yours. The heat between your legs spread out, surging through you. You arched into him, your back rising off the couch, your foot running along the back of his thigh, your hands roaming over the expanse of his shoulders.

His beard burned the column of your neck as he dropped sloppy kisses, first down one side, then up the other, nipping at your earlobe with his teeth. He was leaning on his left elbow as his right hand roamed along your frame; squeezing your hips, your rib cage just below your breasts, your thighs, and ass. Your dress had bunched up, and when you felt the heavy twitch of his cock against your cloth-covered pussy, you gave a needy moan.

Steve answered your moan with his own, his cock growing harder than ever as your arousal soaked through the front of his expensive pants. “Jesus,” he hissed, nipping at your ear, pushing his knees deep into the couch, spreading your thighs wider, his zipper biting into your clit.

Electricity shot up your spine and made you gasp. You’d never wanted to have someone fuck you so badly, but you also weren’t sure how emotionally ready you were. With the admission of how Brock treated you, and then Steve assuring you that he would wait for you, for as long as you needed him to, you had started to second guess yourself.

Would you ever be ready for another serious relationship? Was Steve just like Brock, sweet and attentive in the beginning, only to turn wicked later?

The door burst open, making you jump.

“Steve,” Bucky shouted, shoes squeaking on the floor as he ran into the room.

Steve sat up, his hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes glazed over. “What is it, Buck?”

“There’s been a breach,” Bucky answered, voice thin and tight.

“Show me,” Steve instructed, pulling you up and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Stay here.”

* * *

Steve followed his friend and bodyguard into the room that was filled with screens, each one was assigned to a camera on the premises, and each one of them was currently showing an error message.

“Shit, Buck,” Steve ground out. “How’d this happen?”

Bucky shook his head as he pushed some buttons on the control panel. “It started over here,” he said, pointing to the camera that was aimed in the alley where one of the back doors was.

Steve watched for thirty seconds before the feed cut out. “What time was that?”

“Nine o’clock, on the nose,” Bucky answered, turning his attention to the control panel again. “And then every five minutes, another camera goes dark.”

With every feed that was lost, Steve’s anger rose. “What’s being done to get the cameras up and running?” he demanded of his friend.

“Tech’s been called in,” was his answer. “Should be here within the hour.”

“Not good enough. Get them here as soon as possible.”

Bucky was pulling the phone from his pocket to do just that, when Steve asked another question. “Where’s the breach?”

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” he murmured. “Follow me.” While they walked down a maze of hallways and several flights of stairs, Bucky argued with the manager of the company Steve wanted there, “Now, not in a fucking hour.”

Steve shot Y/N a text, saying that he would be,  _Up in a few minutes. Go ahead and pour another glass of wine and sit tight._

“Ten minutes out,” Bucky confirmed into the phone. “Thank you.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Bucky held open the door for his friend, following him closely as they approached a table.

Steve stopped in front of the table. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to a box wrapped in the colors of Y/N’s alma mater.

Bucky nodded at the package. “That’s the breach. It was wedged in the door between the fifteenth and sixteenth floor. It’s been cleared, there’s no explosive residue, no threat of anthrax.”

A chill slithered down Steve’s spine as he stared at it. Whatever it housed was going to be bad. “Have you opened it?”

“I didn’t have to. I saw it on the x-ray,” he explained, the color draining from his face.

“What is it, then?” Steve demanded to know, his anger now bubbling just below the surface. Whoever did this was fucking pissing off the wrong person.

Bucky shook his head. Of all the shit he’d seen while in the Army, nothing unnerved him near as much as when he had seen the x-ray results. With shaking hands, he used a knife to cut through the wrapping, then the thick tape that held the box together. Once the flaps were open, Steve peered over the edge and covered his mouth with his hand.

“This was in the bow,” Bucky added, handing a once-pink collar to Steve.

The tag sounded like a bell as it swung back and forth on the bloody hook. “Henrietta,” Steve murmured before turning over the tag. “If found, call Y/N Y/L/N at 555-0369.”

With wide eyes, he stared hard at his friend, and then spun away, tearing out of the room, collar in his hand, Bucky hot on his trail. Bucky was shouting demands into his comm.

“Lock it down, all of it. No one comes in or gets out, not even the fucking tech!”

Steve’s heart pounded in his chest, laden with worry. When the door to his apartment came into view, he surged forward, his wild eyes scanning the dark room, lit only by the dancing flames in front of the couch, the couch that was empty.

“Fuck,” he snarled loudly before calling your name.

Bucky had his gun out, cocked, safety off, by his side, finger pressed against the barrel. He ran from room to room, clearing each one, as Steve bolted up the stairs, taking them three at a time, yelling for Y/N every few seconds.

“She’s not on the main floor,” Bucky shouted as he ran up the stairs, going down the hallway in the opposite direction Steve had gone.

Steve’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he slapped on the lights in the bedroom. Y/N was lying on his bed, curled around one of his pillows. She had changed out of her dress and was wearing one of Steve’s t-shirts, no doubtedly falling to her mid-thigh, but they way she was lying, it barely covered the curve of her ass.

Bucky was panting as he came into the room, dark eyes falling on Y/N’s sleeping form. He holstered his pistol as Steve walked over, dropped a kiss to her temple, and turned off the light, closing the door quietly.

Less than five minutes later, Steve was telling Bucky what Y/N had admitted about her past relationship.

“You think it’s him,” Bucky uttered as he typed Brock’s name into a search engine.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Steve murmured before taking a healthy drink of bourbon.

Bucky let loose a low whistle. “He’s got a rap sheet longer than my dick.”

Steve snorted in half-amusement. “I want his picture distributed to the team, and Y/N is now your top priority.”

“What about you?”

“I can take care of myself. It’s Y/N that needs protecting,” Steve insisted.

Bucky scoffed. “She ain’t gonna like it.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” Steve snapped, hand clenching the bloody collar, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

“Are you gonna tell her?” Bucky nodded at the open box that held a mutilated and dismembered feline.

Steve pulled in a stuttering breath, swallowing around the thick knot in his throat. “In the morning.”


	10. Chapter 10

**“[Henrietta,](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FHenrietta_%28novel%29&t=OTY2MTJjZDkxZjljOGU4MmIwYjRmNzU1NzZjZDkwNjZlYjY2Y2U0NCx2SmFsWmZGag%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172629515224%2Fexecutive-decision-ten&m=1)”**  you murmured sadly, clutching the bloodied collar. “It was the book that made me fall in love with literature.”

Steve was next to you on the couch, arm around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into him. “I didn’t see a cat at your place,” he noted softly.

You shook your head. “You wouldn’t have. Brock wouldn’t let me keep her after I left, so… I just… I never thought he’d do something like this.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” Steve murmured against your temple.

“What now?” you asked, running a hand over your damp face.

Bucky was the first to answer your question. “The entire team has Brock’s picture, and a full report has been handed over to the authorities. They’ve been looking for him for a while now, so considering the sensitive nature of what happened last night, this is the first time they’ve had a real lead.”

“They have? Why?” Your chest and throat went tight.

Steve took your hands in his - bloodied collar and all - and kept his voice steady as he said, “Brock’s their lead suspect in a series of murders.”

You were shaking your head. “No, tha… that can’t… I don’t -”

“It started after he put you in the hospital,” Steve sneered, the words tasting vile on his tongue.

“Prostitutes, at first,” Bucky added, his hands deep in his pockets. “Then it was college freshmen, just a few, nothing that would set off any alarms on campus.”

“I never heard anything about it,” you said weakly, your mind racing, reeling at the news that Brock could be killing women. Though, it wasn’t a complete surprise. The man was more than just a dominant; he was a sadist.

Steve was squeezing your hands. “You wouldn’t have. They were in neighboring towns. He knew how to work the system, keep the police on their toes.”

“Bastard is smart, I’ll give him that,” Bucky snarled.

Steve’s dark eyes were scanning your face. “You alright, doll?”

You shrugged your shoulders and sniffled. “The man who beat me unconscious has been killing women, he just slaughtered my cat, and he’s the only one I’m allowed to be with,” you sassed. “Yeah, I’m fucking peachy.”

“Hey,” Steve said, an unhappy bite to his voice. “Nothing is gonna happen to you, not on my fuckin’ watch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gasped, the intensity that was radiating off of Steve in waves slammed into you, driving the air from your lungs.

“Everywhere you go, I go,” Bucky answered.

Your eyes went wide at the news. “No way. I’m sorry, Bucky, I like you, but no. I don’t need a damn bodyguard.”

“There’s no discussion about it, Y/N. I also want you to stay here,” Steve said.

“Stay here in what capacity?”

Steve swallowed and risked a glance at his friend, who answered, “Nat can bring over clothes and whatever belongings you can’t be without.”

You ripped your hands from Steve’s and stood, glaring at him. “You mean I’m a prisoner. What the fuck, Steve?”

“No, not a prisoner,” he scrambled off the couch. “It’s safe here, much safer than an apartment with a busted security system and phony security cameras.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” you snapped, hand waving grandly at your surroundings. “You got a busted security system, too.”

“Last night was something that hasn’t happened before,” Bucky said defensively. “And it will never happen again. We’ve doubled the amount of bodies we have on staff, the security system has undergone a massive upgrade, courtesy of Tony Stark, and now that the authorities know what Brock is up to, their main focus is to bring him in.

Steve was in front of you, but you took a step back, and that hurt him more than anything. “Please, Y/N. I just want you to be safe.”

Your eyes were flicking back and forth between the two men in front of you. You knew Steve meant well, he really did, and Bucky would follow through with his orders, keeping you safe, at all times, no matter what, but did it really need to come to that?

The body of your deceased feline proved to be the nail in the coffin.

“I have a job interview today,” you finally said, stepping into Steve’s personal space.

“Really?” he asked, concern flaring to life in his eyes. “You didn’t mention it before.”

You shrugged. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Where’s the interview?” Bucky asked, phone already in his hands to make a call.

“[ **Secret Acres Books**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fsecretacres.com%2F&t=MGE1OTk4YjdkOTEwZDBjZDI2NmQ4ODUyMTM2YjUzMmEwYjUyMTEyOSx2SmFsWmZGag%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172629515224%2Fexecutive-decision-ten&m=1),” you answered. “I have to be there at eleven.”

Bucky nodded as he turned away, murmuring into the phone just quiet enough that you couldn’t hear him.

Steve held you to his chest and kissed the top of your head. “I’m really sorry about Henrietta.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, arms wrapping loosely around his waist.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Steve vowed, his eyes dark and dangerous.

You shouldn’t be wanting to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, but you wanted to, desperately. Instead, you pushed up to your toes and kissed him sweetly.

“I should go back to my apartment and get ready,” you whispered against his mouth.

He hummed low in the back of his throat. “There are clothes here, if you like.”

You arched a brow at him. “You have women’s clothes here?” you asked curiously.

“I do,” he said.

“But why?” you persisted.

“Just for those in-an-emergency times,” he answered with a wink. “As this happens to be.” You looked up at him, and you knew that he saw your determination in your eyes.

“It’s not much, just a few items in various sizes. They’re not trophies or anything morbid such as that. I just like to be prepared,” he informed you.

“Okay,” was all you said before giving him another kiss before you turned on your heel, dropped the collar on the rag it had been been shown to you in, and headed upstairs to get ready.

* * *

With your jacket over your arm, you sat down and crossed your legs, praying to God you didn’t get anything on the [ **borrowed clothes**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fpin%2F226517056228972676%2F&t=MjUyMGFmOThjNzJlOGM3OTQ0NTczZDYzNWFjYTBjYTc2MDljNjBhMSx2SmFsWmZGag%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172629515224%2Fexecutive-decision-ten&m=1) you were wearing.

Even with the door closed, you could feel Bucky’s presence. He wasn’t happy about you going into the interview alone, but the head of the publishing house, Baron Zemo, was even less than thrilled about the idea of you being accompanied.

“He your bodyguard?” Baron asked, pointing a finger over your shoulder.

You laughed awkwardly as you shifted in your seat. “He’s a close friend,” was all you said on the matter.

“Alright, then, let’s get down to business.” Baron put on a pair of glasses that sat on the edge of his nose, adding at least fifteen years to his appearance. “You’ve just graduated, yes?”

“Yes, just yesterday, if you can believe it,” you answered, hands wringing together under the borrowed jacket.

Baron’s eyebrow arched as he peered at you over the thick frames. “Wow,” he noted, eyes dragging over your appearance. “Fresh off the boat, as the saying goes, yes?”

“I, uh, yeah,” you stammered. “I guess. Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all. I prefer to have people in my employment whose way of thinking hasn’t been compromised by the big corporations.”

You forced a small smile. “The greener the better?”

Baron chuckled as he nodded. “I like you already, Miss Y/L/N.”

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, you were shaking Baron’s hand with Bucky at your side. “You’ll be hearing from me soon, Miss Y/L/N,” he vowed.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Mister Zemo,” you replied.

Bucky helped you with your jacket, even held your purse under his arm as he did so. “Everything go alright?”

“Fuck, I hope so,” you answered bluntly, tucking your arm inside his as he led the way through the office. You didn’t miss the way more than several sets of eyes - from both men and women - followed the pair of you.

“You don’t think you’ll get the job?”

You were shrugging before he finished his question. “I don’t know, to be honest. I know that I’m not the only graduate in Brooklyn that’s looking into this position.”

“They’d be stupid not to hire you,” Bucky smiled down at you as he opened the door to the car.

You climbed in and buckled up while Bucky rounded the back of the car, sliding behind the wheel a moment later. “Where next, Bucky?”

“Your apartment,” he answered, looking over his shoulder, waiting for a break in traffic.

“That’s right,” you huffed. “To pack.”

You didn’t like it, not one bit. You knew Steve and Bucky wanted you to be safe, and that your apartment was the least safest place for you to be, but Nat was your best friend. To go without seeing her, well, that was like asking a flower to grow without the sun.

Bucky chuckled as he looked at you in the rearview mirror after pulling into the lane. “Nat’s there. Said she’s got your favorite pizza and some beer.”

“A girl after my own heart,” you laughed.

* * *

Nat was waiting, true to her word, with a bottle of beer in one hand, and a slice of your favorite pizza in the other. She was dressed in nothing more than a loose tee and a pair of dark yoga pants, hair pulled back, hickeys adorning her neck.

“Those from Clint?” you snorted in amusement as you hugged her.

She laughed richly at that, wrapping her arms around you in return once her hands were free. “Said he wants people to know I’m ‘his,’” she teased, using air quotes.

“When in reality,” you mumbled around the large bite of pizza, “it’s you who owns him.”

“Don’t you know it,” Nat said with a wink. “Can I get you a beer, Bucky?”

He shook his head at the offer. “I’m good, thank you.”

“You sure?” she teased, holding a freshly-opened bottle.

Bucky shook his head again. “I’m on duty,” he insisted, nodding towards you.

Natasha’s demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. “How are you doing?” she asked, eyes full of worry at your well-being and hatred towards Brock.

Shrugging, you finished eating the slice of pizza. “Holding it together. Don’t tell Steve, but having Bucky close by is a good feeling.”

“Alert the media,” she joked ruefully.

“And as much as I don’t want to leave you,” you squeezed her hand and swallowed around the knot in your throat. “Staying with Steve, in a secure building, where a whole team of people are watching out for me, for my safety; it’s a relief.”

Natasha pulled you into her and held you tight. “They better not let anything happen to you. They’ll have me to deal with,” she muttered menacingly, just loud enough that Bucky heard her.

“I swear, on my mother’s grave, nothing will happen to Y/N,” he vowed, fingers held up like a boy scout.

You wiped away several stray tears that had broken through your eyelashes. “Now that that’s settled,” you rasped. “Who’s going to help me pack?”


	11. Chapter 11

Nat watched as you poured the wine in both glasses, waiting until you sat down before asking, “Have you and Steve had sex?”

If it were anyone other than your best friend, you’d be telling them what they could do with their inappropriate question, but the woman had literally saved your life. Nat knew everything about what you did and didn’t like in the bedroom, she knew that you were a submissive, what you looked for in a dominant. Hell, she probably knew what kind of panties you were wearing.

“Not yet,” you answered softly, that ever-present guilt bubbling in your chest.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have sex with Steve. God, you wanted him to fuck your brains out, but everything that was currently happening along with everything that had happened two years ago with Brock, you weren’t sure if you were ready.

Scratch that, your body was ready. Every time the two of you would make out, hot and heavy, on the couch or on the bed, his strong hands skimming over your - still clothed - body, grabbing and pulling you closer. Or the way his narrow waist settled perfectly between your spread thighs, his cock thick and heavy against you, the way he kissed you, passionately, possessively, savagely, gently, lovingly… But your mind, you weren’t sure if you could handle it.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“We went over some of the basics the other day,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Nat raised her glass in salute. “That’s progress.”

You hummed in agreement. “It is, and he makes me happy, Nat.”

“So what’s stopping you?” she inquired, her red brows knitting together.

“Brock,” you rasped, his name leaving a vile taste on your tongue. “He’s still out there, and I just…”

“You’re not focused,” she said after your voice trailed off.

You nodded before taking a long drink. “And I’m afraid that if I make him wait too long, he’ll see that I’m not worth it.”

“Y/N, don’t,” Nat scolded you. “You’re worth it, okay? That man, God, he loves you so much that if you said you wanted to wait until your fiftieth birthday, he’d do it.”

“Stop it,” you chuckled, waving your hand at her.

“I shan’t,” she teased, shooting you a wink.

You were shaking your head as several words replayed through your head. “Steve… he does… he doesn’t love me.”

Nat laughed at that, all out laughed; her head thrown back, a hand over her heart. “Jesus, you are blind. It’s not just in the way he is around you, Y/N. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, it’s… it’s intense.”

“What are you talking about?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you as if it were this physical thing, heavy and thick. When you would turn around, his eyes would have moved onto someone else, more than likely Bucky or Clint, sharing a joke, or giving Bucky a hard time about getting a girlfriend. When it was just the two of you, home after a long day at work, or dinner at an expensive restaurant, you’d turn and find him smirking as he raised an amber-filled glass to his lips, or turning the page of a newspaper, the business section. But to hear someone else describe it, that was what you needed right then.

“It’s like watching someone discover something for the first time,” Nat started, hand running through her curly hair. “Like they’ve spent their whole life looking for it, desperately turning over every rock, looking in every crevice, only to find loneliness and disappointment. Let me ask you this, do you remember that time we camped out on the roof?”

“We watched the sky until the sun came up,” you chuckled at the memory.

She was nodding as you answered. “Right, but there was that meteor shower.”

“Oh, God, yeah,” you hummed, your hand over your lips. “It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I could’ve watched it forever.”

Natasha snapped her fingers. “You’re his meteor shower, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; Steve Rogers was in love with you. The two of you were on opposite ends of the world from one another, and somehow, you had fallen face first into his life, and apparently, into his heart.

A smile pulled at your lips and you could feel a warmth in your chest, a warmth that spread through you, pushing away all the self-doubt and ridicule, silenced the voices, helped you believe that you were worthy of having someone like Steve in your life.

“That, right there,” Natasha sighed. “I know that look.”

“You do, huh?”

She was smiling along with you. “You’re in love.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “I am.”

Nat had just grabbed your hand when your phone rang. The pair of you jumped at the sound, only to laugh in embarrassment at how easily spooked you were.

You accepted the call with a shaking hand. “He- hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/L/N?” a man asked. His accented voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it immediately.

For the hell of it, you put the call on speaker. “This is,” you confirmed. “Who’s calling?”

“It’s Baron, Baron Zemo. I’m calling to let you know that a decision has been made regarding the position at [ **Secret Acres Books**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fsecretacres.com%2F&t=MzEzZjU4OTIyYjMxMGRlNmFjYTdiZThjODUyZTFmZWUyYjA5Yjc4ZCxoaUJLMTZZUQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172958692374%2Fexecutive-decision-eleven&m=1),” he answered happily.

Your stomach flipped nervously. “It’s only been a couple days since I interviewed, I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.”

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when someone nails the interview as you did.”

“I, uh, I did?” you stammered. Nat’s hand was held out, palm up, so you grabbed it and held onto it tight.

There was a shuffling of papers in the background. “You start Monday morning.”

“Wow, that seems so soon,” you chuckled. Natasha squeezed your hand and gave you a comforting smile.

“It is,” Baron agreed. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, giving you the feeling that he was annoyed with what he was about to say.  “But to be honest, we needed someone last week. I would have hired you on the spot, but there’s a bunch of bureaucratic bullshit I had to go through.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Baron laughed at that. “So, we’ll see you Monday, yeah?”

“Of course. Bright and early, with bells on,” you rambled excitedly.

“See you then, eight a.m. sharp.” Baron disconnected the call after wishing you a good evening.

Natasha was up from her chair and pulling you out of yours. “Congratulations,” she laughed, pulling you into her arms. “You deserve this.”

You latched onto her and laughed, harder yet when she started spinning the pair of you. It had been a long time since you had felt this level of joy and accomplishment, like you finally found what you were meant to do with your life. Things seemed to finally be turning around for you.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were sitting in your favorite bar, tossing back another shot. Bucky was there, too, sitting at the other end, drinking a seltzer water and a slice of lime. While you were busy celebrating, he was working.

He scanned every face in the crowd, put them down to memory, watched what they ate, what they drank,  _how_  they drank it, who  _they_ watched when their eyes roamed about. He watched the loud ones, the ones that laughed a little too loud, the sound braying and annoying. He watched the quiet ones, the ones that kept to themselves, only talking when spoken to, enjoying their drinks in public solitude. Nobody was a person of interest, and everybody was.

You met Bucky’s eyes and raised your glass in salute, smiling when he tipped his head. When you sighed heavily, Nat touched your hand.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, concern on her brow. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“It’s nothing,” you answered softly, hoping she wouldn’t push the issue. You should have known better.

“Y/N,” she warned. “We’ve known each other for far too long. You can’t lie to me.”

You took a drink from your freshly-filled wine glass before saying anything. “You ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?”

Natasha chuckled under her breath. “You’ve got yourself a bonafide bodyguard. So, yeah, I can see why you feel that way.”

“No, Nat,” you argued, shaking your head. “This is… it’s not the same feeling. When it’s Bucky, I feel safe. It’s his job, after all.”

“Well, we did talk about Steve not being able to keep his eyes off you,” she offered with a shrug.

You took another drink of wine. “I don’t feel creeped out when I’m with Steve, Nat,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

Nat scanned the room quickly, searching for the one person she knew that made you feel that way. “You think it’s Brock?” she whispered harshly.

“With every fiber of my being, I hope it’s not.”

* * *

Brock stood outside the bar, wearing a hat, the hood of his jacket up, hands shoved deep into his pockets. With a sneer on his lips, he watched the bodyguard, Bucky. He was too busy scoping out the inside of the busy bar that he was completely oblivious to the fact that the man Bucky was searching for, was right outside.

“That’s the best he could get for Y/N?” he growled. The irritation he felt was only fuel for the fire. “He’s a fuckin’ punk.”

God, he hated Steve. Every inch of him was boiling in rage. He wanted to punch Steve in his perfect fucking teeth, beat him into the ground, after he dealt with Bucky. Neither of them were a match for Brock, he could take them both at the same time if he really wanted to. His blue belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu would make sure of that. But there was something about the thought of going toe-to-toe with them, one at a time, that gave him a thrill.

His eyes drifted down the bar and landed on Y/N, her head thrown back in laughter, her cheeks crimson, her hand over her heart; she looked so good, good enough that he was tempted to run in the side door, grab her, and show her who she really belonged to in front of everyone, including that bitch, Natasha.

“Hey, man,” someone said, snapping Brock out of his fantasy. “Can’t you read?”

Brock was ready to unleash the unbridled rage in his chest when he saw who was talking to him. “Sorry officer,” he muttered, choking on the knot in his throat.

“No loitering,” the man in blue announced, finger pointing at the sign right next to Brock’s head. “Move along or I’m going to write you a ticket.”

Smiling tightly, Brock said, “There’s no need for that. I’ll be on my way.” He shot one last longing glance at Y/N before departing.


	12. Chapter 12

“Dinner,” you deadpanned. “Tonight. With your parents.”

“They want to meet you,” Steve  _argued_. “Besides, we need to celebrate.”

You groaned inwardly, or so you thought. “It’s a job, Steve.”

“A job, that you worked hard to get.” He slid a plate of pancakes in front of you, a bottle of syrup next, and then a glass full of orange juice. “And I’ve met your dad, it’s only fair that you meet my parents.”

“You only met him because you bought him a first class ticket,” you pointed out, fork in the air, syrup dripping off it.

Steve laughed at that. “Because it meant so much to you. Don’t you know by now that I’ll do anything for you?” And there it was, that light in his eyes, full of awe and wonder and love, it was all that Natasha had described, and so much more.

Smiling, you gave up your fight. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

With a wink, Steve leaned over the island and pressed a sticky kiss to your lips. “I’ll let them know.”

* * *

You were fidgeting with the black bracelets on your wrist, wondering if  **[the outfit](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fed%2F01%2F66%2Fed01661a66ec208c48694303dc7b4e29.jpg&t=MDg2ZjMyZTI3OTQ2NWQzNGE4YjMwZmI0MmI2MzQyMzgwZGQ0MWE2ZSwzNnRnS0w5TA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172980078449%2Fexecutive-decision-twelve&m=1) ** you chose was too plain or boring; it was simple, classic, black and grey, the strap tied on your left side showing your curves, silver and black heels on your feet.

“You look beautiful,” Steve assured you.

“I feel like I’m going under the microscope,” you admitted right before the front door opened.

“Steve, my darling boy,” a regal-looking woman greeted, her smile warm and comforting.

Steve bent down and wrapped his arms around his mother, holding her close. “How’ve you been, Ma?”

“Good, good,” she confirmed, pushing up to her toes and kissing his bearded cheek. Once she released her son, her cool blue eyes were on you. “You must be Y/N.”

Smiling, you put out your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Call me Eleanor, please,” she chuckled and pushed your hand away. “We don’t shake hands here, darling,” she purred, pulling you into her arms and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Come on in, dinner is just about ready.”

You followed her into the  **[house](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.washingtonian.com%2F2015%2F04%2F01%2Fthis-125-million-mclean-mansion-has-a-ballroom-and-an-indoor-basketball-court%2F&t=ZjFjNjFjODI5N2QzOGM2NjZlMTkyZTkwYjNkYTRkOWRjNDFjZGNjZCwzNnRnS0w5TA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172980078449%2Fexecutive-decision-twelve&m=1) ** \- a mansion, really - and sucked in a breath. “Holy shit,” you couldn’t help but say. The [ **entryway**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fe2%2F0b%2F57%2Fe20b575193bbbb71947e79cbe48f9e36.jpg&t=NWEwYmU4N2IzNzIxZGJmMzIyYWVjNzEwYTUxZThlZWRhYTA1NzM3MSwzNnRnS0w5TA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172980078449%2Fexecutive-decision-twelve&m=1) was white, marble, the woodwork was dark, a stark and beautiful contrast.

Clint was standing off to the side, a drink in his hands. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “We get that a lot.”

“Clint Barton Rogers,” his mother admonished.

“What? It’s true,” he insisted as he crossed the room, pulling you into a hug.

You returned the embrace. “Good to see you again, Clint.”

“You too, kid,” he teased with a wink.

“Did the celebration move out here?” an older gentleman asked as he approached the group, Natasha following behind.

When she saw you, she scurried over and hugged you as if she hadn’t just seen you last night. “You look great,” she whispered, knowing how insecure you felt.

“Same back at’cha,” you breathed. You couldn’t stop the flare of jealousy at the way her simple creme geometric [ **dress**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fcf%2Ff5%2Ff7%2Fcff5f7182233c98dfb19d301d7f857bc.jpg&t=OWIyNDUzNzA3YzllMjRlZTI1YTZhMmUzYjA3NDQ0OWI3ZmY2ZGE1OSwzNnRnS0w5TA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172980078449%2Fexecutive-decision-twelve&m=1) emphasized her already curved hips.

Steve had his hand on the small of your back as he introduced you to his father - Roland - who also gave you a welcoming hug.

“It’s good to put a face to a name,” he laughed. “Come, let’s eat.”

Everything, from the spacious rooms to the meals served, was overwhelmingly perfect. You fought the butterflies in your stomach, worked to ignore the voices in your head that were trying to convince you that you’d mess up, that they would be laughing behind your back. Steve’s hand would occasionally drop to your thigh and squeeze, the heavy weight of it more of a comfort than all of the deep breaths you pulled in. If it weren’t for him, you had no doubt you would have ran out before the meal had come to a close.

“Would it be rude if I took off my heels?” you quietly asked his mother.

“Of course not, dear,” she answered. “Is everything alright?”

You couldn’t help but blush at the question. “I sprained my ankle last week, and it’s still a bit sore.”

“Goodness,” she proclaimed. “Do you need some ice? Sarah, darling, can you grab an ice pack for Y/N?”

The petite redhead dipped her head. “Yes, Mrs. Rogers.”

“No, no,” you squealed, drawing everyone’s gaze to you. “I don’t… I’m fine, really. I just need to take off my shoes.” You felt your face go crimson and there were tears that were threatening to fall.

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple. “It’s alright, just breathe,” he murmured low so only you could hear him.

Eleanor dropped her napkin to the table. “Come with me, Y/N.”

Standing, you followed her  to the entryway and slipped off your shoes. “I… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That,” you waved your hand toward the dining area. “My little outburst. I’m a bit embarrassed.”

Eleanor grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, how’s your ankle feeling?”

“Better, actually,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

“Good,” she smiled, giving your hand another squeeze. “Dessert will be a little while yet.”

“Is it… I mean, feel free to say no, but do you mind if I -”

Eleanor saw the way your eyes had drifted over to the elaborate staircase. “Absolutely, dear. Make yourself at home.”

After Eleanor went back to the dining area, you found yourself at the top of the stairs, one hallway to your  left, another to the right. Without a thought, you drifted to your left, taking in the crisp and clean design, sighing at the lush carpeting between your toes, as you coveted the priceless artwork decorating the walls.

You found yourself in a bedroom, Steve’s, judging by the pictures on the wall, the trophies bearing his name, from when he was a teenager, not having been touched since he graduated high school, since he enrolled in college. It was all warm colors; blues, greens, browns, dark, earthy, comfortable.

Steve found you standing in front of his dresser, a picture from his senior year in high school. You were smiling gently, your fingers tracing over his face, over the ornate details of the frame.

“Mom picked out the frame,” he murmured, pulling you from whatever daydream you had fallen into.

“Well that explains it,” you chuckled. “I don’t see you picking out something this… frilly.”

He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You doing alright, doll?”

Sighing, you melted into him and rested your hands on his. “Better, yes.” And it was true. For some reason, being in Steve’s childhood room had brought you a sense of peace.

Steve kissed your temple, then your cheek, humming low in his throat as your head tipped to the side, giving his full lips ample realty to roam. Warmth rushed through you, pooling low in your gut as he nipped playfully at your pulsepoint, soothing it a moment later with his tongue.

You giggled like a schoolgirl when he ground into your ass. “Steve, we’re in your childhood room.”

“And?” He ground against you again, using his hands on your hips to hold you to him.

A moan tumbled from you at the heavy twitch of his cock. “And, we might get caught.”

Steve turned you to him and captured your lips in his, kissing you slowly, passionately, his tongue moving leisurely against yours, his hands on your ass, lifting you from the floor. You gasped and wrapped your legs around his narrow waist, tangled your hands in his hair, and tugged on them, earning yourself a moan from the back of his throat.

“I seriously don’t fucking care.” An arm at the small of your back kept you secured to him as he took a knee on his bed and lowered you down, covering your body with his all without breaking the feverish kiss.

His large hand skimmed over your breast, teasing your sensitive nipples, which peaked under his touch, even through your bra and shirt. You arched into his touch, but he didn’t reward you with a firm hold as he usually did.

“Eager, aren’t you, little one?” he chuckled against your lips when you whined.

“I just want you to touch me, sir,” you panted. There was a flash in his eyes, dark and dominating, and it only made you want to rip his clothes off with your teeth.

With lust-blown pupils, Steve winked at you before giving you a searing kiss. His hand had moved from your breast to the hem of your dress, which had bunched up around your hips with the rocking of your bodies. Blunt nails scraped against your belly as he turned his hand and slid it into your panties.

Your entire body shuddered at the way his fingers moved between your slick folds, back and forth, faster and harder, bumping your clit with each pass, until you were clinging to his shoulders, your knuckles white, begging him to, “Stop fucking around.”

Steve’s lips pulled into a cocky smirk as he slid one digit into you. The pair of you moaned together, you, because goddamn, it felt so good to finally have a part of Steve inside of you, and Steve, because, “Fuck, doll, you’re so tight, and it’s only my fucking finger.”

A long moan fell from you as he started stroking you, slow at first, as if he were memorizing what made you gasp, what made your back arch off the bed. Another finger joined the first, eliciting a longer moan, this one louder than before. He covered your mouth with his, effectively silencing you.

You had one leg thrown over Steve’s hip as he fucked you with his fingers, his own hips grinding onto the bed, searching frantically for some friction. At the rate he was twisting and thrusting his fingers into your dripping pussy, you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I can’t wait to get my cock in you, doll,” he rasped against your lips. He used his thumb to expose your aching clit, which he then started to rub frantically. “Come on, Y/N. I can feel it, you want to cum.”

His name was a choked mantra when he crooked his fingers and found your sweet spot. You came apart at the seams, whimpering and clawing at his back, your vision going white, lava rushing through your veins.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, stroking you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and lips, sending wave after wave of raw pleasure washing over you.

You had just gotten your hearing back when someone called up the stairs, “Dessert’s ready.”


	13. Chapter 13

The ride home from Steve’s parents was the longest fifteen minutes of your life. The tension was palpable, so thick you thought you could reach out and touch it, feel it between your fingers like the vines of a weeping willow. It was hard to breathe, the weight of it suffocating you, making your chest heave, made you squirm in your seat.

Steve wasn’t helping matters. He kept shifting in his seat, his dark eyes were roaming over you, that full bottom lip trapped between those perfect teeth, his hands stroking his thighs as he fought the urge to pull you onto his lap and fuck you then and there.

Even after arriving home, the two of you had to wait until Bucky cleared every room. There were ten rooms, and Bucky took his sweet ass time, despite the fact that Steve was telling him to come back in an hour.

You couldn’t take being in the same room as Steve and not being able to do something about the ache between your legs, so once the master bedroom had been cleared, you made yourself scarce, mentally preparing yourself for what was about to happen. Your shoes had just been slipped off when you caught sight of Steve in the mirror of your vanity. Barely hiding a smile, you turned to face him.

“No canes,” was your first stipulation, a serious tone to your voice. “No flogs, no cat of nine tails; nothing of the like.”

Steve was kicking off his shoes, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Got it.” His voice was deep, reverberating through you even though you were on the other side of the room.

Your jewelry was dropped onto your vanity. “I won’t be calling you ‘daddy,’” was another one. “I’ll call you sir.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he agreed, his tie falling to the floor. “What else?”

“Safety first,” you chuckled, unzipping your skirt. “I am on birth control, so it’s condoms, or no sex at all.”

With a gleam in his eyes, Steve pulled open a drawer on the bedside table, grabbed a foil-wrapped condom, and tossed it onto the bed with a wink. “There’s more where that came from.”

After stepping out of your skirt, you untied the bow at your side. “I don’t do blood play of any kind.”

Steve’s pants had dropped to the floor before he started removing his socks. “It weirds me out, anyway. Anything else I need to know?”

Wearing only a matching set of burgundy bra and panties, you strode over, an extra sway to your hips, and slowly started to unbutton his shirt, your nails scraping through his chest hair once the last button popped free.

“While I would love…” you kissed his chest, right above his nipple, “to have you…” another kiss to the other side of his chest, “buried so deep…” rather than kiss his nipples, you scraped your teeth over them, “that it hurts.”

Steve’s breath tore out of him. “Wha- what do yo- you want?”

You pushed the shirt down his shoulders, your nails dragging the whole way, leaving red lines along his skin. “I want…” you dropped to your knees, nails scraping and mouth skimming over his body until you were face to face with the bulge in his black boxer briefs, “to suck your cock…” you disposed of his boxer briefs and smiled wickedly at the sight of him long and hard, thick and throbbing, “until I choke on it.”

“Fuck yes,” he drawled, the word leaving him like a punch to the gut.

Wearing a triumphant smirk, you wrapped a hand around his shaft and sighed at the velvet-hardness against your skin. Your mouth watered at the sight of his weeping tip, at the thick vein that pulsed rhythmically against your hand.

“But you don’t get to touch yourself,” he added just as you were about to flick your tongue and get a taste of him.

“Yes, sir,” you purred, your lips wrapping around him a second later.

You watched him through your lashes as you worked him in and out of your mouth, your hand stroking in tandem, fast and then slow, taking him deeper into your throat. Steve’s pupils had exploded and his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth as you fucked him with your mouth. There was a feral look about him that made your pussy clench, the need to touch yourself almost too much to handle.

Steve’s hand was on the back of your head, urging you closer, thrusting his cock down your throat. With tears in your eyes, you gripped his thighs, your nails digging into the muscles there as you did exactly what you wanted; you choked on his cock, and you loved every second of it.

His thrusts were tight, controlled, bruisingly deep as he fucked your mouth, snarling as he did so, praising you for, “Taking my cock so well, baby girl. I can’t wait to see how your pussy takes it.”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and spit was rolling down your chin, but you kept taking his cock, “Just like the good girl I knew you were,” swallowing around it as best as you could, hollowing your cheeks, and moaning, making the man above you shudder.

“No,” he cried, his cock deep in your throat. “I ain’t done with you yet.” Steve’s cock was gone and you gasped as air rushed painfully into your lungs.

He hauled you off the floor and kissed you savagely, not caring about the bittersweet taste of himself on your tongue. He literally tore off your bra, sending bits of lace through the air like confetti. Your panties were next, the shredded material joining the pile a moment later.

“Get down on all fours,” Steve demanded, his voice gritty and dark.

A wave of lust rushed through you, and you could feel it on your thighs. “Yes, sir,” was your tremulous answer.

As you situated yourself on the bed - a pillow under your breasts, on your knees and elbows, your back arched, your pussy on full display - Steve tore into the foil packet and rolled on the condom with a hiss. The bed dipped as Steve knelt between your legs, and you barely bit back a moan at the feeling of his cock as it swayed back and forth, brushing against you, teasing you.

“You don’t get to cum until I say. You got that?” One hand was on the small of your back, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place.

You looked over your shoulder and felt all cognitive thought leave you at the sight of him. Where Steven Grant Rogers, CEO, was cool, calculating, and collected, Steve Rogers, dominant extraordinaire, was wild, wicked, and wired. Instead of answering, all you could do was nod. Steve smirked dangerously before slapping your aching pussy. It wasn’t too hard, just enough to let you know that he meant business.

“Ye- yes, si- sir,” you finally croaked.

“That’s what I thought,” was all he said before he pushed into you.

It was a tight fit, and God, did he let you know it. “Shit, you’re tight,” he hissed, fingers digging bruises into your ass and hips.

You blew out a stuttering breath as he filled you, as your body struggled to accommodate his substantial size. The burn wasn’t unpleasant, rather, you relished in it because you knew, that no matter how many times he fucked you, the overwhelming fullness, so complete, it would never go away.

With your walls fluttering, Steve inched in and out, a gasp leaving you when only the tip remained, and then, Steve snapped his hips forward. If it weren’t for his hands on your hips, pulling you back, holding you to him, your body would have surged forward, and your head would have hit the headboard.

Steve’s thrusts were tight and controlled, driving deep and hard, the wet slap of skin echoing Steve’s grunts and your throaty moans. The heavy drag of his cock was intoxicating, like an illicit drug, sending you higher with every pulse and pass.

“Steve, please,” you keened, your knuckles white from gripping the pillow so tight. You were wound tight, ready to snap at any second, all you needed was a little more -.

“What did you call me?” he snarled.

You choked on a whimper when his thrusts stopped. “I… I call- called you Ste- Steve,” you stuttered. Every nerve was like a livewire, sparks flying, ready to start a fire.

“Naughty girl,” Steve murmured, his hips shuddering. “What are you supposed to call me?”

“Sir,” was your whispered answer. “I… I’m supposed to call you, sir.”

Steve hummed in appreciation at the way the word rolled from your tongue, strained with raw need. “You’re such a good girl,” he crooned, his hands flexing on your hips. “Keep it up, and I might let you cum. Would you like that?”

“I would like it very much, yes, sir.” And with those last two words, Steve continued fucking you as if nothing had happened.

Every thrust had you seeing stars, pushed the air from your lungs like a punch to the gut, sent you closer and closer to the precipice. You were almost there, your release just out of reach, when Steve gave his permission.

“Cum for me.”

That was it, you were gone. Those stars you had been seeing behind your closed eyelids exploded, giving birth to their own galaxies, millions of billions of specks of light, and they were so beautiful. A shout of his name came out a strangled mess of nonsense. Steve’s hips lost their rhythm as he came with a snarl, buried to the root, his hands holding you to him like a vice until his own legs turned to rubber.

With your face buried in the pillow, you were a sobbing mess. Your entire body was shaking from the rush of endorphins, the intense relief of finally finding a dominant that knew how to treat his submissive; all of it swirled together inside of you.

You must have passed out, because you didn’t remember Steve getting off the bed, or cleaning between your legs. Your body ached in the best possible way as you tried to sit up, but Steve was there to help.

“Easy, doll,” Steve murmured. “Take it slow.”

It was still dark outside, so you figured you hadn’t been out of it for very long. “What time is it?” You hardly recognized your own voice.

“Almost two,” was his simple answer. He pressed a glass of water into your hand, holding it on the bottom for support. “Here, you’re dehydrated.”

You about choked on the chilled liquid as you greedily drank it. When you were done, you were panting and your heart was pounding. “Tha- thank you.”

With a kiss to your forehead, Steve disappeared for several long moments to refill the glass. After setting it on your bedside table, he crawled into bed and pulled you into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Get some sleep, doll,” he whispered against your lips. “You’ve had a busy day.”


	14. Chapter 14

Monday seemed to rush at you like a freight train. It was the first day of your new job, and you were a bundle of nerves. It didn’t help that Steve was hell bent on Bucky joining you.

“It’s my first day, Steve,” you basically whined as you pulled on a [ **black sweater**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F79%2Fc6%2Ff9%2F79c6f94121d1670a62ade776edb09d2e.jpg&t=ZWIyNmI3OWFiNTFmYWFhYjYzYTUzYzExMDU0YjQ5ZmU1MmEyOTMxYSx4cTdZS1VXVg%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173489039234%2Fexecutive-decision-fourteen&m=1). “Mr. Zemo was already uncomfortable about Bucky being there, and it was only the interview.”

“He’s going, Y/N,” Steve ordered, his eyes dark and a finger pointed at you. “And that’s final.”

Bucky was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll be out of the way,” he added. “They won’t notice me.”

You turned to look at him, your brow arched, eyes dragging heavily over him. “You’re not exactly the blend-into-the-background type of guy, Buck.”

He barely hid a snort of amusement at your comment. “Nobody is going to trip over me, okay?”

“Fine,” you huffed dramatically. “But if anyone says anything about it -”

“They can talk to me,” Steve interrupted, his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. “Take care of my girl,” he ordered Bucky.

“You got it, punk,” Bucky sassed with a mock salute.

* * *

Baron kept glancing over your shoulder. “Is this going to be an every day sort of thing?”

“About that,” you hummed. “It’s personal, and I’m not really comfortable talking about it. It won’t interrupt my work or my ability to work well, I swear.”

“It better not,” he warned, his eyebrow arched.

You swallowed thickly before nodding. “Understood, Mr. Zemo.”

With a nod, Baron rested his hand on a stack of manuscripts. “You’re going to hit the ground running, Miss Y/L/N. I need these proofed by Friday.”

“Oh, okay, ye- yeah,” you stammered. “I’ll do my best.”

“No, you won’t,” Baron argued. “You  _will_  have them done.”

Your lips pulled into a tight smile as you confirmed that, “Yes, I will have them done by Friday.”

“Alright, then,” he huffed. “I’ll leave you to it.” Baron gave you a curt nod before turning away and striding purposefully to his office.

You sat down and made quick work of arranging things the way you wanted them. There were things from the previous employee that you didn’t see a need for, so you shoved them into a box to worry about later. You started the computer and logged in using the generic password that was provided, only to change it immediately. There was a basic  _Welcome to the company_  email that you quickly skimmed over before grabbing a red pen and the first manuscript.

“So, you’re the new hire.” You looked up to see an honest-to-goodness kid standing by your desk. “I’m Peter Parker,” he smiled, his hand extended.

You gave it a solid shake in greeting. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

Peter chuckled at the way you were staring at him. “I’m eighteen, out of high school, I swear it.”

“I”m sorry,” you laughed. “You just look  _so_  young.”

“It’s no problem. I get it all the time,” he assured you.

You dropped the capped pen onto the manuscript and leaned back in your chair. “What do you do here, Peter?”

“Right now, I’m a gopher,” Peter deadpanned, his eyes rolling back. “But it means I’ve got my foot in the door.”

“You want to be an editor, too?”

Peter’s eyebrow bobbed playfully. “Are we going to be competing against one another?”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “You’re a self-proclaimed gopher, and I’m already proofing manuscripts. I think I’ve got a leg up on you.”

“You only think that because we’ve just met,” he laughed. “Give it time.”

“Since you’re a gopher,” you started, leaning forward to drop your elbows onto the desk. “What is it that you go… for?”

“Coffee, mainly,” was his answer. “Oh, and lunches. I’ll also run to the store if anyone needs anything.”

You looked at him with narrowed eyes. “So… you’re our bitch?” you asked cautiously, adding a wink just to make sure he knew you were joking around, though, you had no doubt he knew.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Peter laughed, earning several scowls from your coworkers. “You got your own entourage?”

With a glance over your shoulder, you gave Bucky a wave, which he dipped his head in response. “Sort of, I guess.”

Peter must have noticed the sad tone to your voice, because he was apologizing quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just -”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you assured him. “I have a crazy ex, that’s all.”

He gave you a tight-lipped smile. “God, that sucks. Did he… I mean, are you okay?”

“Honestly?” you huffed. “I don’t know. The whole thing is fucked up and intense and I just want it to be over with.”

“My aunt… I live with her, long story, my parents died and… anyway, my aunt had a boyfriend once that smacked her a couple times,” he admitted sadly. “But May’s a strong woman, she stood up to him and ended up literally kicking his ass out of the apartment. I can see that in you, that fight, that will to survive. You’ll get through it, Y/N.”

You covered his hand in yours and smiled. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Besides,” he rasped, leaning close, “I know jiu jitsu. You say the word, and his ass… is grass.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of you, and before you could say anything, Baron was in his doorway, calling for you.

Peter scurried away with a harsh, “Shit, I’m sorry,” as you stood. You felt Bucky’s eyes on you as you walked into Baron’s office.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Zemo,” you said nervously, your hands wringing together behind your back.

“I get it,” Baron muttered, irritation thick on his tongue. “It’s your first day, there’s people to get to know.”

You looked down at your feet and pulled in a shaky breath as he continued. “You just have to understand that there are other people that are working here, and distractions,” he cleared his throat so you could see him point to Bucky, “are frowned upon.”

“I need Mr. Barnes here,” you said in a rush. “It’s… it’s for my own safety.”

Steve had told you that if anyone gave you a hard time over Bucky, that they should talk to him. You didn’t want to do that, tell your manager to call your boyfriend. It made you feel like you were a child, unable to handle the situation by yourself.

After several long moments, Baron pulled in a deep breath. “I’ll allow it for this week. Anything beyond that is not permissible. Back to work, Miss Y/L/N.”

When you got back to your desk, Bucky was sitting in the chair that Peter had been in. “What was that about?” he asked, his eyebrow arched.

“Apparently, having a good time is frowned upon in this establishment,” you answered. “Also… Zemo says you’re only allowed to be here for this week.”

“Well, he’s a fucking idiot,” Bucky huffed. He reached into his pocket to grab his phone, but you were shaking your head.

“I’ll let him know.”

* * *

Steve was rolling his eyes and laughing incredulously. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know,” you said for at least the fifth time. “But I can see his point, Steve. Bucky is a distraction.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “He’s a goddamn bodyguard, not some monkey at the zoo that flings their shit at people.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image. “Not yet, at least.”

Steve’s eyes pierced into yours. “I’m being serious, Y/N.”

“So am I,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and middle finger. “Five women and two men came up to me today, asking if Bucky was single; they couldn’t stop staring at him long enough to do their jobs.”

After taking a long drink of whiskey, Steve sighed. “I don’t like you being there with no one to keep you safe. I’ll call Zemo in the mor-”

“God, no,” you gasped. “Please don’t do that. It’s like… it’s like having your dad call the principal because you don’t like the teacher I have. Please, Steve. Don’t… don’t call him, don’t  _do_  anything.”

“What’s your solution?” he asked, standing in front of you, close enough that you could hear the air fill his lungs with every breath he took.

With your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you started to tug the crisp blue shirt from his pants. “What if we listened to Zemo,” you started, shaking your head as soon as Steve’s mouth opened to protest.

You unbuttoned his shirt, taking your time with each white button. “Bucky finishes out the week,” you scraped your nails over his stomach and onto his sides as you opened the shirt. “And next Monday…” your hands skimmed up his chest, the dark hair tickling your palms on their journey, “he drives me to work…”

Steve set the glass onto the counter and watched you with dark eyes. “He waits in the car while I work…” with your hands on his shoulders, you rid him of the shirt, giggling when the fabric got stuck on his watch, “and then he brings me home…” you tangled your fingers in his hair and pushed up to your toes, “safe and sound,” you muttered, your lips brushing his. “What do you say?”

“I say…” Steve reached back and pulled your hand from his hair, “that I want to see…” the sound of his belt coming undone echoed in your ears, “that mouth of yours…” he shoved his pants and boxer briefs down, “wrapped around my cock.”

Lust surged through you and sweat started to bead on your forehead. You licked your suddenly dry lips and said two words, “Yes, sir,” before dropping to your knees.

You took his half-hard cock in your hand and stroked him before you licked a broad stripe on the underside of his cock from bottom to top, relishing in the pulse of the vein against your tongue. Steve sucked in a hiss as you sucked him between your berry-stained lips.

Steve swelled in your mouth, against your tongue and the insides of your cheeks, and it pulled an obscene moan from the man above you. “Shit, doll,” he snarled in approval as you sucked him, working your hands in tandem with your mouth.

With a low hum, you took him deep into your throat until your nose was buried in the short ginger curls. You pulled in a deep breath through your nose and bobbed your head, your throat working against his cock in shallow strokes. Steve’s thighs were shaking and he had a hand in your hair as tears streaked down the sides of your face.

“Fuck,” he choked. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, suckin’ my cock like a good girl.” His praises shot through you like electricity, soaking your panties further.

You wanted to touch yourself, to ease the ache between your legs, to feel yourself come undone, but while Steve hadn’t told you not to, he didn’t exactly give his permission either. As a deterrent, you gripped onto Steve’s hips as he plunged his cock in and out of your mouth, deep into your throat as you gagged on him.

Steve pulled back with a wicked sneer. “Not yet,” he chastised himself, his cock painfully hard and red. He kicked out of the pants and boxers that were pooled around his feet, pulling you off of the floor a moment later.

His mouth was on yours, his tongue was in your mouth, demanding your attention, possessing every inch he could taste. Without notice, he ripped himself away and gave a command.

“Get upstairs and get naked.” His voice was dripping with dominance and you about came right then.

Without further prompting, you jogged your way out of the room, up the stairs, and into the bedroom where you stripped the clothes from your body in record time. You knew he liked it when your hair was down, so you tugged it down from the knot on your crown and quickly ran a brush through it.

Steve strode past the door, completely naked, his cock bobbing with each determined step, pre-cum glistening from the hair on his stomach. He crooked his fingers at you as he went, not even stopping to see if you followed. With your heart pounding, you hurried out of the room and caught up with your dominant.

The door to  _the room_  was open and he was waiting for you, a predatory gleam in his eye and a smirk on his mouth. “Close the door and lock it,” he ordered.

With the door closed and the lock thrown, you faced Steve, your hands flat against your thighs, your face as neutral as you could manage. “What next, sir?”

“The bed,” his voice was low and thick, heavy with need. “Lie down on your back.”

Nodding, you did as instructed and situated yourself on the luxuriously soft bedding.

“That’s a good girl,” Steve praised as he strolled over as if he had all the time in the world. “Open your legs, let me see your pussy.”

Electricity sparked along every inch of your skin at his command. It was at that moment you realized just how badly you had missed having a dominant, and one that knew what he was doing. You pulled your legs up and opened them, putting yourself on display for him. Steve pulled in a shuddering breath at the sight and his hands balled into fists as he fought to keep his control in check.

“What now, sir?” you asked, your voice shaking with lust.

Steve’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. “Touch yourself, Y/N.”

Your hands were shaking as they hovered over your stomach. “I uh, wh- where?”

“Wherever… however you get yourself to cum. I want to see it all.” His voice was dark, dangerous, arousing.

One hand slid down your belly and between your legs, the other drifted up to your breasts, where you massaged one, the hard peak of your nipple rolling against your palm. You bit your bottom lip as your fingers slid between your damp folds, how you teased yourself by using only the tip of your middle finger inside your pussy.

Steve’s rumbling moan was felt in the pit of your stomach, and it only served as fuel for the fire. Pinching a nipple hard, you pushed in your middle finger to the third knuckle and started fucking yourself; slow at first, only it wasn’t enough. You need more girth, more speed,  _more_.

Using your feet for leverage, your hips rose off the bed as you pushed in another finger, as the heel of your hand worked against your clit, that aching bundle of nerves that felt as if it was going to explode when you crooked your fingers just like tha-

“Stop,” Steve commanded, a growl in his throat.

The breath left your lungs as if you had been punched in the stomach. Every inch of you was teetering on the edge, ready to let go, but you did your dominant’s bidding and removed your fingers from your fluttering pussy.

You met his gaze and sucked in a breath at the dark gleam in his eyes, at the way his hands were flexing at his sides, at the way his cock was throbbing against his stomach. Steve smirked wickedly before kneeling on the edge of the bed. You moved to sit up, to latch onto the back of his neck and kiss the breath from his lungs, but he shook his head; not much, just a twitch, really.

Steve’s hands were on the insides of your thighs, spreading them wide, wider than before, enough to fit the width of his shoulders between them. Goosebumps rippled along your spine, sending heat straight to your core. With his hands digging into your skin, you rolled your hips as his hot breath blew against your sex.

He moaned your name obscenely at the brush of curls and damp heat against his nose, lips, and the back of his knuckles. Steve might have been a businessman, but there were calluses from years of boating and camping and backpacking through the country. Those calluses bit into your sensitive lips, working back and forth to spread your slick along his fingers and into his palm.

One long digit entered you, all the way to the third knuckle, pulling a long moan from deep within you. You grabbed his wrist as he stroked you languidly, his wide thumb circling the knot of nerves. He blew out a shuddering breath and slid another finger in, crooking them to find your g-spot.

You perched your feet on his shoulders before he buried his face in your pussy, his fingers driving in and out, scissoring back and forth before finding the rough patch of skin that would send you into oblivion. Just as he found it, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, scraping his teeth over the over sensitive knot. You were a panting and whining mess as your body clamped onto Steve’s digits, and as soon as your orgasm began to crest, Steve pulled back.

“Not yet,” he ground out, pushing himself off the bed. He grabbed a condom and rolled it on, hissing at the contact. Your mouth watered and your pussy clenched at the sight.

You maneuvered yourself so you were kneeling in front of him, your hands on his shoulders as you kissed him. “I need you, sir,” you purred between kisses. The bittersweet tang of your cum was thick on his lips and tongue, dripping off his beard and onto your breasts as he gripped your hips.

Steve had you off the bed, your legs around his waist as he sat down, his feet spread wide, planted on the carpeted floor. You gripped his cock and pushed it between your silken folds, spreading your slick before guiding him into your tight pussy one inch at a time. When he was completely seated, you gripped his shoulders, your nails biting his skin.

Rough hands drug along your back before resting on your hips. A foul sounding moan spilled between you, blowing hot air onto your sweat-slicked skin. “Fuck, baby girl. So fuckin’ tight.”

The bite of pain ebbed, quickly replaced by a wave of pleasure as the head of his thick cock twitched against your g-spot. You rocked your hips and watched as his eyes rolled back, as he bit his bottom lip when his head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck. The harder you snapped your hips, the louder he grunted your name. Every couple of thrusts, his hand would smack your ass, echoing the wet sounds of sex. Your back arched as the coil in your belly wound tighter, a wide hand on the small of your back supporting you.

“Hold on, doll. Not yet,” Steve instructed, his mouth on your breasts, biting and sucking your nipples almost raw, his beard biting into the sensitive skin, marking you as his.

“I… I ca- can’t,” you whimpered, doing everything in your power not to give into the pleasure that was raging through you.

Steve snarled as he fucked up into you, as he dug bruises into your skin, as he continued to mark you as his. “Come on, doll. Let me hear you scream.”

You grabbed his hair as you came, shuddering and clamping down on him like a vice, a shattered scream of his name falling from your lips. His hips stuttered as you washed over him, and it only took a handful of thrusts before he followed, your spasming walls milking every last drop from him.

With his arms around your waist, Steve fell to his back, his crystal eyes fluttering closed at the feel of your nails dragging along his scalp as his own fingers carded through your hair, twirling the ends around the tips. He sighed low in his throat as you kissed him. This kiss wasn’t like the others, it wasn’t rushed or frantic. This kiss was slow and deliberate, sending a different kind of shudder down your spine.

You managed to sneak out of his grip without too much protest. “Where are you going?” he hummed.

“To clean up,” you answered cheekily. “You’re welcome to join me.”

In the blink of an eye, Steve was off the bed and you were pressed against the granite walls of the shower, Steve between your legs, water cascading down, drowning out your cries of pleasure.


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Friday afternoon found you hunched over your desk, head in your hands, red pen shoved into the knot on top of your head, and your heart pounding painfully in your chest.

“Zemo’s gonna fire me,” you groaned.

Bucky was sitting there, one leg thrown over the other. “Because you have three transcripts to read?” he scoffed loudly, not caring who heard him.

You glared at him from the corner of your eye. “It’s my first week here,” you ground out.

“Exactly,” he agreed, toothpick between his molars. “It’s  _only_  your first week here. If he fires you, he’s a bigger tool than we thought he was.”

“Wait… we?” you asked in confusion.

Bucky chuckled, showcasing that stupidly cute dimple in his chin. “Come on, Y/N. He’s a tool, and you know it,” he insisted, his fingers drumming rhythmically on your desk.

You let loose a huff of laughter, your eyes drifting to the office where the topic of your discussion was, sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone, his hands moving animatedly in front of him.

“I mean, kind of,” you half-ass agreed with him.

Peter came over, a smile tugging at his lips, and a large bouquet of blood-red roses in his arms. “Where do you want these, Y/N?”

“He really shouldn’t have done this,” you murmured, a thrill running through you as you cleared off a spot, digging into them, looking for a card as soon as you could. Bucky was watching you carefully, his brows pulled together, but you ignored him, smiling like a fool when you found the small card. Your lips moved as you took in the words, the words that you thought were written on behalf of Steve, but you were wrong.

_Always thinking of you._

The card fell from your trembling fingers. “I… I was wrong. It’s not… not Steve,” you stammered, fear clawing its way through you, wrapping around your heart, and squeezing.

Peter picked up the card and looked at the fancy writing. “The ex?”

When you nodded, Bucky’s hands were on your shoulders and there was murder flashing in his eyes. “You’re sure it’s from Brock?”

Your chin was quivering and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “I’m positive. He said it all the time, Buck. It’s him. He’s here.”

Bucky turned his murderous gaze to the teenager that delivered the flowers. “You stay with her. Under no circumstances is she to be left alone. You hear me?”

“Yeah, man, I hear you,” Peter confirmed.

Bucky ripped the phone from his pocket as he tore off through the office. “Brock was just here, boss.”

With a sob in your throat, you dropped into your chair. Peter grabbed the box of tissues and sat next to you, his arm around your shaking shoulders.

“It’ll be okay, Y/N,” he promised.

“You don’t know that,” you choked, a hand over your mouth. People were staring, hushed questions falling from their lips, and it made you feel like you were under a microscope.

“What’s going on?” Mr. Zemo demanded to know. His arms were crossed and he was wearing a pinched look of irritation rather than concern for his employee.

Peter gave your hand a squeeze before he stood. “There’s been a threat to Y/N’s life,” he answered bluntly.

Baron huffed as he took in the sight before him; you were crying, tears streaming down your face, smearing your make-up, the dark flowers, the tossed away card. He picked it up and read it aloud, much louder than he should have.

“How is  _this_  a threat to your life, Miss Y/L/N?” His tone was cold, impersonal, uncaring.

“It… it’s not,” you sputtered. “Not directly, but you don’t know -”

“You’re right,” Baron interrupted, flicking the card onto your desk. “I don’t understand because you won’t tell me. It seems the only ones you trust are your rent-a-bodyguard and our resident bitch.”

Peter scoffed at that. “Now, hold on a minute,” he started, but a dark glare from Baron made Peter swallow heavily.

“Excuse me,” Bucky growled as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, “but you might want to back the fuck off.”

Baron stood tall and glared at Bucky. “I’m not sure you know who you’re talking to, son.”

“And I’m not sure you know who  _you’re_  talking to,” Steve snarled as he joined the conversation. You were out of your chair and in Steve’s arms in the blink of an eye, your arms around his waist, your face buried in his jacket, marring the expensive linen with your make-up.

Baron blew out a heavy breath of annoyance. “The boyfriend, I presume.”

Steve pressed a kiss to the top of your head before extending his hand. “Steve Rogers,” he smirked. “I believe I need to have a word with your superiors.”

* * *

Steve was pacing back and forth, squeezing a stress ball with one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. He had been on the phone with the head of [ **Secret Acres Books**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fsecretacres.com%2F&t=MTNiYjc5MzZhNjhiNGNjNThiNTJkOWYyNDhkODdjZGRlYzM3MGUyOCxPVW5sdEVONQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173773899104%2Fexecutive-decision-fifteen&m=1) for the last hour, and he was starting to get pissed off.

“No, I really don’t think you understand,” he argued. “An employee’s life has been threatened, and the on-site management sees fit to degrade the employee? That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, a lawsuit that will bankrupt your company fifteen fold.”

You were lying on the couch, your head in Natasha’s lap, her fingers combing through your hair, a cashmere blanket covering you.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I really need to break it down for you? Because I can use small words if I need to.”

Natasha giggled at that while Clint gave a grunt of approval from the kitchen. Whatever he was cooking smelled divine. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and your stomach decided to remind you of its presence.

“Allow me to remind you of the zero-tolerance policy your company has in regards to sexual harassment,” Steve said, shooting you a wink as he continued pacing. “You’ll see in the email that my team of lawyers and I constructed, that there have been several complaints lodged against Mr. Zemo, yet there haven’t been any investigations. Would you care to elaborate as to why?”

That got your attention. You pushed off Natasha’s lap and snapped your fingers to get Steve’s attention. “What happened?” Steve handed you the file he had just referenced, which you tore through to find the complaints.

“Holy shit,” you muttered. There were more than several complaints. There were, “Fifteen, sixteen, seven…  _seventeen_?!”

Natasha pulled one from the file and ran her finger over each line until she came up with a name. “Wanda… that’s Pietro’s sister.”

“What?” you gasped, pulling the sheet from your friend’s hand. “I haven’t seen her in… shit, a year?”

“Yeah,” Nat agreed, her head shaking sadly. “She was having a hard time with the courses. I thought she went back home.”

“Where’s home?” Steve asked.

You and Nat answered simultaneously. “Sokovia.”

Steve took the paper from your fingers and turned the topic of the conversation to something even more serious. “Where is Wanda Maximoff?”

* * *

“Do you really think something happened to her?” you asked Steve as he climbed into bed.

“I don’t know, doll,” he answered tiredly, scraping a hand over his face.

You slid between the silken sheets and curled into his side, pressing a kiss to his bearded cheek. “I’m sorry about today.”

Steve’s head shot up and he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What happened today is in no way your fault, Y/N,” he said sternly. “Brock is unhinged. I’m pissed at him, for what he’s doing, for what he’s done to you.”

“But if I had just stayed wi -” Steve’s mouth was on yours, effectively silencing you.

His eyes were dark when he pulled back. “None of this is your fault, you hear me? None of it.”

Your inner voices were still screaming, doing their best to convince you that Steve was lying, that everything that happened with Brock, what was happening now, all of it was your fault. If only you had stayed with Brock, if only you hadn’t pissed him off that night, if only you had kept your big mouth shut and not told Natasha about the beatings, if only you -

Steve huffed impatiently before kissing you. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you melted into him, as his tongue pushed between your lips, as he dominated your senses. If his words weren’t enough to convince you, he’d have to show you.

He rolled onto you and settled between your thighs, caging you in with his forearms, tangling his fingers in your hair as your back curved off the bed. You were sighing and moaning into the kiss, rolling your hips up, swallowing his moan, and sucking on his tongue.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasped, his voice shattered. He marked you with his beard and teeth, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin until you hissed.

Sitting back on his knees, Steve’s fingers dragged along your body; twisting, pinching, pulling, goosebumps jumping to life under his touch. Reaching your hips, he hooked his fingers inside the band of your panties, and pulled them over your hips, down your thighs, all while staring at you with lust-blown pupils, that perfect bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You grew self-conscious under his gaze, blushing and averting your eyes, hands twitching to cover yourself.

Steve shook his head, saying, “You’re beautiful, sweetheart, so fuckin’ beautiful.” His voice was more a ragged whisper than anything, and a strange sense of self-acceptance washed through you, hushing the small voices of doubt in your mind.

He was kissing you; sucking your bottom lip between his, nipping at the plump flesh before sweeping his tongue over it, running his fingers through your hair, pushing your legs further apart with his thighs. Your heart was hammering, pushing blood faster through your veins, thundering in your ears like a waterfall. The base of Steve’s cock was pressed against your engorged clit as you rutted against one another. Your pussy tightened painfully, desperately seeking out his cock, your opaque slick seeping out, staining the blankets below.

With your nails at the small of his back, you whined, “Need you to fuck me, Sir.”

Steve’s moan was ragged, making his shoulders shudder. He licked his lips hungrily, watching as you reached over and pulled out a condom from the nightstand. Once the foil package was torn open and discarded in the small waste basket, he pushed up and sat back on his knees, his cock twitching and throbbing as you rolled the condom on.

You wrapped your hand around his cock, running your fingernails along the rubber-coated thick vein, relishing in the ebb and flow of blood beneath your touch. He was so thick and hard, like a layer of skin atop a rock. It was when you stroked him, squeezing his cock-head between your thumb and forefinger, that he growled.

Steve was on you in a flash, kissing you hungrily, a hand on the base of his cock, sweeping the swollen head through your slick folds. He bit your lower lip as he pushed in slowly, his hips shaking as he fought for control. All he wanted to do, all you wanted him to do, was to fill you so completely you couldn’t breathe. But he took his time, and goddamn it, you almost came from the lazy drag of his twitching cock.

Hot air blasted on your chest as Steve looked between your bodies and watched his cock disappear, until all he could see was his ginger curls tangled with yours. Your breath caught in your throat as he stretched you, not stopping until his pelvis bit into yours. Neither of you moved for a moment, you just lay there, senses in hyperdrive. Every twitch made one of you gasp or moan, every brush of skin made goosebumps flare to life. And just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Steve pulled back, just as slow as when he filled you, stopping only when his cock-head remained.

With a guttural sound, he snapped his hips, driving the air from your lungs with a grunt, and sent an echo of wet skin through the room. He used his thighs to open your legs wider, subsequently, doing the same thing to your pussy, and giving him a new angle to make you cry out. And cry out you did.

Your back arched and air was tearing in and out of your throat. Steve’s mouth was on your shoulder, biting, kissing, sucking, raggedly whispering how, “Fucking amazing you feel. So fucking tight and wet, doll.” And then an sinful moan of your name would fall from his lips.

Steve slid a hand under your arched back and hooked it on your right shoulder, digging his fingers deep into the skin and muscles with every snap of his hips. You were meeting his thrusts, nails cutting into his shoulder blades, lower back, and ass as the coil tightened and the pleasurable white-hot burn began to spread out from your belly. His hips started to stutter and both your already ragged breathing came sharper, echoing the wet, sucking sounds of sex.

With his forehead on your shoulder and his own shoulders bowing with every thrust, Steve slid a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, and pressed his two middle fingers against your clit. Static exploded in your head and black dots swarmed in your eyes as you came. You held your breath as you pulsed around him, knowing the lack of oxygen would only fuel the intensity of the orgasm.

When you couldn’t take it any longer, and Steve’s mantra of, “Fuck, baby girl,” was harsh on your neck, you released the air held hostage, his name at the end was a shattered whisper.

He stayed there, between your shaking legs, propped up on his elbows, and kissed you languidly as you drug your fingers over the wide span of his shoulders. It was only when he had gone soft that Steve pulled out, each of you hissing in a mixture of arousal and over-sensitive skin.

Steve disappeared into the bathroom, coming back a few moments later, finding you exactly where he had left you. You drained the glass he handed over as he cleaned you up, still murmuring praises and dropping kisses to your flushed skin.

As soon as he was back in bed, you curled against his side, humming in contentment, dropping a kiss to his chest, falling asleep almost immediately.


	16. Chapter 16

Pietro was hugging you before your eyes adjusted to the dark studio where he was preparing for a show. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me after last time,” he murmured.

You pulled back and squeezed his hand. “You’re my friend, Pietro,” you said, to which he winced at.

“Gonna take some time getting used to hearing that.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized softly.

He was shaking his head. “No, Y/N, don’t apologize. You deserve to be with someone that makes you happy.”

You looked over your shoulder at Steve, smiling warmly when he gave you a wink. “I am happy, Pietro.”

“Then we will discuss it no further,” he chuckled. “So, you said you needed to ask me something when you called.”

“I don’t know how to, uh, bring this up,” you murmured, rubbing at the back of your neck, a group of butterflies in your stomach.

His brows were knitted together in confusion and worry. “What is it, Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you chuckled nervously, waving your hand at the weight of his words. “It’s about Wanda.”

You told Pietro about working for the publishing house, more importantly, that Baron Zemo was your boss, but in order to really explain what was happening with Baron, you told him about Brock, about the stalking and the dead cat and the flowers.

“What does any of that have to do with my Wanda?” Pietro asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Steve had come over a few moments ago. “We found a file, a complaint lodged against Baron by your sister, Pietro,” he explained, pulling the folded sheet of paper from his pocket, handing it to the eldest Maximoff.

“We haven’t seen her since last year,” you added.

“That’s easy,” Pietro scoffed, refusing to look at the file. “She’s back home.”

Steve was confused at Pietro’s refusal. “Is there any chance we could talk to her?”

“No, it’s not happening,” he snapped, his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Pietro, please,” you begged, reaching out to him. “We just need to know what happened.”

Rage boiled in his eyes when he spat out, “Baron raped my sister.”

You gasped in horror and surprise. “I didn’t… we didn’t know. Oh, God, is she okay?”

“Is she okay?” he repeated, his voice dripping with venom. “The bastard beat her so bad she was unrecognizable. He broke three ribs, her cheekbone, and her nose. In her attempt to escape, she lost four of her fingernails. She was completely broken when I found her.”

You could feel Steve’s anger radiating off of him in waves. “And the police did nothing?” he demanded to know.

Pietro swallowed around the knot in his throat as he shook his head. “We didn’t… she wouldn’t let me go to the police, said it wouldn’t do any good.”

“There are sixteen other women that have been assaulted by this man,” you insisted, tears streaming down your face.

“I tried to tell her, Y/N,” Pietro said, the emotion in his throat making his voice thick and raw. “She’s just so goddamn stubborn.”

“You said she went back home,” Steve interjected. “Would she talk to us, more specifically, would she talk to Y/N?”

Pietro shrugged as he pulled the cell phone from his back pocket. “It’s worth a try.”

* * *

Between your glass and hers, Natasha emptied the bottle of wine. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured. “And they did nothing.”

“Pietro said that Wanda refused to go to the police. As far as anyone knows, Wanda fell,” you scoffed.

Before you and Steve left the art studio, Pietro had said that he ended up taking his sister to the emergency room, but even then, with the nurses and doctors pressing her for information, she mentioned nothing of the rape or the beating. All she would say was that she was such a klutz, that she tripped over her own feet while carrying something large and heavy down the stairs. They must have believed the fabrication, because they treated her wounds and sent them on their way.

“I’m going to kill that weasel of a man,” your friend threatened, her nose wrinkling.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Get in line. Steve’s ready to kick his ass already, and that was before we knew what happened to Wanda.”

“Did Pietro say anything else?” she wondered before taking a long drink.

“Not really,” was your soft answer. “But he did give us her phone number. I’m just… I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t want to trigger her or anything like that.”

Natasha covered your hand in hers. “We can make the call together.”

“That would be great, thank you,” you sighed as you grabbed your phone, fingers hovering over the contact you had created earlier for Wanda.

* * *

Three hours later, you trudged into Steve’s drawing room to find him standing in front of an easel, charcoal in hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, hair askew, and his head cocked as he swept his fingers over the line he had just drawn, smearing it, blending it. You stood there for a few minutes, arms crossed, shoulder against the door frame, watching the way his muscles flexed as he moved, how the shirt stretched over his shoulders, the seams almost tearing apart with each movement.

Your curiosity got the better of you several minutes later, so you wandered into the room, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Just as you were about to see what was on the canvas, Steve shook his head.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he rasped, though he didn’t move to cover the canvas.

You stopped dead in your tracks as a shiver raced down your spine. “I’m sorry, sir,” you breathed.

“It’s alright, doll,” was all he said as he continued to work.

When you weren’t sure if you should stay or go, or even ask what you should do, Steve’s voice washed over you once more. “Take off your clothes and stand over there,” he instructed, pointing to an area just inside of his peripheral vision.

Knowing better than to keep Steve waiting, you shut the door and threw the lock before quickly removing your clothes. You kept your head down as you walked past, your freshly-freed hair obscuring your view should you feel tempted to peek.

“How would you like me, sir?” you asked, eyes downcast, hands pressed to your thighs.

You could feel the weight of his gaze as he told you, “Arms over your head, wrists crossed.”

“Like this?” you questioned, not wanting to get it wrong.

“Such a good girl,” Steve praised, sending a rush of heat through you. “Now, tilt your head, let me see your neck.”

In doing as instructed, your back curved, putting even more emphasis on your already bare breasts.

“That’s perfect, doll,” he purred, charcoal scratching against the paper. “Absolutely perfect.”

You blushed under his praises, and your body reacted on muscle memory. Your nipples hardened painfully, your pussy clenched in anticipation, and the longer you stood there, the more difficult it became to keep your breathing steady. Every inch of you craved Steve’s touch, from the bottom of your feet, to the roots of hair on your head, all of it yearned for him, for his gentle, yet domineering touch.

“Y/N, what are you doing to me?” The sound of Steve’s rugged voice pulled you from the intense daydream you were having. He was standing in front of you, his chest heaving as his lust-blown pupils roamed over your body, lingering on your breasts.

Swallowing thickly, you slowly lowered your arms, waiting for him to chastise you for moving when not instructed to do so. “I don’t know, sir,” was all you were able to say.

Steve moaned low and heavy at that. Unable to stop himself, he reached out, brushing his knuckles under the swell of your breast, smearing charcoal on your skin. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth as he watched your breathing pick up, as goosebumps dotted your skin, as your arousal dripped down your thighs.

“Is that for me?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yes, sir, it is.” Your breathing hitched in your throat as Steve pinched your nipples, rolling and tugging them, sending a jolt down your spine, settling warmly between your legs.

You wanted to tell him that you needed him to fuck you, but that wasn’t how things worked. Well, sometimes they did, but Steve wanted to be in charge tonight, and you were not going to complain one bit.

There was a hum of approval as more charcoal discolored your skin. “Look at my dirty girl,” Steve said almost proudly.

Your eyes remained downcast, locked on the way his cock was twitching behind the zipper of his linen pants. “Do I need punishing, sir?”

“Not this time,” was his gritty answer. Steve bent down and gave you a searing kiss, his hands on your ass, lifting you from the floor.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, groaning against his tongue as he tasted you, as the bulge in his pants moved against your pussy with each step Steve took. He was walking down the hall and into the large bathroom. Once there, your feet were on the tiled floor, he reached into the shower and turned on the water. Some had said that shower sex was complicated, but if you knew what you were doing, like Steve did, shower sex was anything but complicated.

Steve all but ripped off his clothing, plucking a condom from a drawer, and ushered you inside. He was on you before the door even closed, rolling the condom onto his impressive length as he kissed you breathless. Once again, you were lifted up with ease, your legs notching onto his hips.

Your back met the cool wall, sending waves of goosebumps over your skin. With his teeth gnashing, Steve sank into you, squeezing bruises into your hips. Not that you minded one little bit. You loved it when he marked you.

“I can take it,” you had said on more than one occasion.

Your ass slapped against the tile as Steve surged forward, as he set a pace that was sure enough to make one of you black out from the intensity. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to build, you were wound too tight, ready to snap at a moment’s notice.

Even though Steve was in charge, you decided to try something you had only talked about. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your neck so that his thumb and two middle fingers were on either side of your windpipe.

“Do it,” you grunted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God, he loved it when you choked on his cock, the way your skin would flush and how your eyes would tear up, but he’d been hesitant to actually choke you. Sensing his hesitation, you pressed on his fingers, relishing in the way they dug into your skin.

“I trust you.”

He squeezed. Squeezed until your eyes rolled back. Adrenaline roared through him and your ass slapped into the wall. You wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up cracking the tile. Everything you felt became stronger, more intense. Steve’s chest hair felt like strands of silk against your breasts, the calluses on his hands dug into your skin like sandpaper, the vein on the underside of his cock pulsed harder with every thrust. It was almost too much to handle, and tears welled in your eyes.

While your air intake was cut off, Steve fucked you like a mad man, until your face flushed dark and your lips moved, whispering the one word that meant stop. “Red.”

The dam inside of you cracked, though it didn’t break. You were so close you could almost taste it. You dropped a hand between your bodies and squeezed your clit.

Clearing your throat, you licked your lips and nodded. “Again, baby.”

Steve’s balls went tight as he choked you again. He watched your mouth fall open, as your eyes rolled back, as you pushed yourself toward oblivion. Fuck, it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Baby girl,” he snarled, his eyes dark and predatory. “You better fuckin’ cum.”

One, two, three more squeezes to your clit and you burst apart at the seams. White light pulsed behind your eyes and static burst in your ears. It was when black started to eat at your vision that Steve dropped his hand to your hip and pounded mercilessly into you until he came, grinding out a crude curse.

The water was cold by the time the pair of you emerged, Steve half-carrying you because your legs were quaking uncontrollably. He dried you off with a gigantic towel, dropping kisses and murmuring praises. After he was dried off, he carried you to bed, where you fell asleep with your face in his neck and his hand in your hair.

* * *

Brock’s man on the inside had come through; he had installed a patch into the upgraded surveillance Steve Rogers insisted upon. With that patch, it allowed Brock to see what was happening at all times. Well, not entirely. With as much of a control freak as Steve was, the man sure did enjoy his privacy, so nothing inside the spacious living area.

The insanely expensive and high definition cameras were on the outside of the building, in the hallways, the stairwells, the alleys on either side of the building, and the basement. But there was one spot that had been left out, and it was exactly what Brock needed.

He spent several days getting down the schedule of security personnel shift changes and their routines. By the time Brock’s plan would be in motion, he’d know everything about each individual, including when they took a shit or took a smoke break.

It wouldn’t be too much longer and Y/N would finally be his.


	17. Chapter 17

Going back into the publishing house, you hadn’t known what to expect. The last thing you had heard was that Baron Zemo was forced out of the company and the numerous complaints were being handed over to the proper authorities. You had no idea who was going to take his place, and you had no idea what your future with the company looked like.

Peter was at your desk, wearing a smile as he waited for you. “Y/N,” he all but shouted as he jumped from the chair. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”

You ruffled the teenager’s hair with a wink. “What’s going on?” you asked as you shrugged out of your [ **jacket**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fa3%2F79%2F84%2Fa37984b57f416c6f032567122c6a6b1d.jpg&t=Mzc1ZGQ4NGZhOGE5ZDdmYmM2MTUxMjY5OGI4NDNjZTJkZmUyODIwMCxiTkJyRWNjRw%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174155388469%2Fexecutive-decision-seventeen&m=1). Bucky was close behind and sat on the edge of your desk since Baron was no longer there to demand the bodyguard leave.

“There are two guys in Baron’s, uh, the office,” Peter answered with a jerk of his head. “Haven’t come out since they got here.”

“Is that… no, it can’t be,” you mumbled as you took in the men’s appearance. You couldn’t see much, nothing definitive anyway. “Buck?”

“I know nothing,” he answered a little too fast for your liking.

You whirled around to stare at him, your eyes narrowed, your lips pursed. “You’re a shitty liar, Barnes.” His only response was a cocky smirk and a wink.

“Miss Y/L/N,” a voice called from the end of the office, making you jump. “Could you please join us?”

Swallowing thickly, you gave Peter a small smile before heading toward a man you didn’t recognize. There were butterflies in your stomach and hummingbirds in your chest, multiplying with each step you took until, finally, you were in the office. Standing next to Baron’s old desk was Steve, and he was smirking.

“The hell are you doing here?” you gasped, your shoulders sagging as relief washed away the fear that some sort of reprimand was headed your way.

He crossed the room quickly and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll get to that,” was his answer.

The man who had called your name closed the door and crossed the room. “Good morning,” he said, extending his hand. “I am Edwin Jarvis, attorney for the Rogers family.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nodded and shook his hand. “What is this all about?”

“What would you say if I said that [ **Secret Acres Books**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fsecretacres.com%2F&t=MGExYjBlNzQ5YjM3ZTUzZDJiMTkyYTM2MmZkYjZmOGEyZTExMjI0ZSxiTkJyRWNjRw%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174155388469%2Fexecutive-decision-seventeen&m=1) is now in my name?” Steve asked, an edge of excitement to his voice.

You stared at him for a long moment as you absorbed his not-so-very-hypothetical hypothetical question. “You did what, now?”

Steve’s wide smile slipped slightly. “I bought the company, thought you would like a jumpstart to your career. Why don’t you look happy about it?”

Jarvis cleared his throat. “I can see that my services are no longer needed. Steven, congratulations on the acquisition. Y/N, it was lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve replied with a tight smile.

You barely waited until the door latched before launching into a tirade. “You seriously thought that I would be okay with… with this,” you sputtered, your arm waving through the air.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Steve shot back. “I thought this was what you wanted, to run your own publishing house.”

“My publishing house, Steve,” you shouted. “Key word there, my. I don’t need you to step in and just buy it for me!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “So, I skipped a few steps. I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “It’s not a big deal to you because you’re the one with the piles of money, living large like Scrooge McDuck. You’ve had money you’re whole life, Steve. You don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to worry about the money,” he tried to explain. “It’s a gift. Look, if you’re worried about wages and the upkeep, I’ll take care of all the costs, everything.”

“Steve,” you heaved out a sigh and screwed your eyes closed. “It’s not that I don’t… appreciate the sentiment behind the action, I do. I just… God, there is so much going on right now with Brock and Baron, this is something that can be put on the back burner. Don’t you think?”

With his jaw clenched, Steve nodded curtly. “You’re right,” he murmured, coming to stand in front of you. “I should have talked to you about it first. I’m sorry.”

You pushed up to your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I forgive you.”

His control slipped, and before he could do anything to stop it, Steve growled low in his throat before dipping his head and kissing you breathless. Your heart was climbing up your throat as you pushed back.

“Steve,” you murmured. “I can’t… we can’t. Not here, not now.”

He hummed against your neck, but did very little to pull away. “Why not? I own the company,” he chuckled.

With a snorting giggle, you pushed out of his grip and slapped him in the arm. “Which makes this,” you motioned between the pair of you, “an abuse of power.”

“You know how much I like power,” he teased, his voice dark and dangerous.

“Yes, sir,” you answered with a wink. Before it was too late, you spun around and ripped open the door to find that just about everyone was staring at you. With a blush coloring your cheeks, you hung your head and darted to your desk, where you slapped Bucky in the shoulder.

“Ow,” he rasped, glaring at you. “What was that for?”

“Like you don’t know,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

Peter bounded into the conversation. “I don’t know, but I would very much like to.”

“Can I have everyone’s attention please?” Steve’s tone of authority gave you goosebumps as a shiver of familiarity rippled down your spine.

Once all eyes were on him, Steve gave a nod of appreciation. “Now, I’m sure the rumor mill has been working overtime for the last couple of days.” There were some chuckles and muttered agreements scattered throughout the room.

“I’m here to put any and all rumors to rest,” he continued, an air of confidence oozing off of him, getting the attention of every woman in the room, and a couple of the guys.

You had to force down the jealousy that was bubbling in your chest. Steve was yours, and there was no way he’d step out of line. He had sworn it, and if anything, Steve was a man of his word.

“My name is Steve Rogers, CEO of Rogers Tech., and I am the new owner of Secret Acres Books,” he said with a warm smile. “As you probably noticed, Baron Zemo hasn’t been in the office since the other day. Let me assure you that he has been… relieved of his duties, and he is no longer a threat to anyone.”

There was a hand that shot up to your left. “Are there going to be layoffs?” the small brunette asked.

“Good question,” Steve acknowledged. “However, it’s not really a question I can answer right now, and that’s only because the internal audit hasn’t been completed, let alone started. Easy, easy, everyone,” he urged when people started hurling questions at him.

“I am aware of the complaints filed against Baron, and they are the reason why there will be an internal audit. Everyone will be subjected to it, so if there’s anything I need to know, it would be better if you came clean before the audit begins. That being said,” Steve clapped his hands together. “In full disclosure, Miss Y/L/N and I are together.”

Someone to your right gave a groan of disapproval, a comment about you being a ladder climber, and Steve heard it. “Yes, we are both fully aware that it creates a conflict of interest, that there’s a chance for an abuse of power,” his dark eyes found yours at that point, and it made you blush. “Which is why I will not be deciding anything to do with raises, promotions, demotions, or salary.”

Your head shot up at that, but Steve turned his gaze to someone else who had raised their hand. “Who will that be, then?”

“An independent party,” Steve answered quickly. “While Baron has been removed from the company, the original panel of investors and the president of the company remained. They will be taking care of everything within that vein.”

“Who will be the head editor?” Peter asked nervously.

“That has yet to be decided,” Steve admitted with a smile. “I do realize that someone is needed to fill the role immediately, and there are several names that have been brought to my attention. In the meantime, my brother has offered his services.”

Clint stepped out of an office that you hadn’t seen before. “Hi everyone,” he waved, smiling warmly. “My name is Clint. Now, I can imagine that some of you don’t think I’m qualified to be an editor of this publishing house, but let me assure you, I have the credentials. I majored in English Literature while I attended Yale, and during that time, I was editor of the campus paper.”

“Of course he did,” you murmured, earning a chuckle from Peter.

The dog-and-pony show continued for another fifteen minutes. Clint was assuring everyone that things were going to be different, that there was a line that a good editor and human being never crossed, and he wasn’t to use his position the way Baron did. By the time he was done, the atmosphere in the room had completely shifted. Whereas the employees kept to themselves and looked grim before, they were now smiling.

“Everything they touch turns to gold, I swear,” you chuckled.

Even Peter seemed happier, which was saying something. “They’re amazing,” he beamed. “This place is going to be amazing to work for now.”

After everyone had quieted down, Steve came over and dropped a kiss to your crown. “I have back-to-back meetings at work,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tonight.”

When he strolled out, several of the women flocked to your desk like birds, wanting to know everything about you and Steve. God, it was going to be a long day.

* * *

The red heels were off your feet as soon as you stepped into the elevator. You leaned back and closed your eyes, fighting off the waves of exhaustion that had been crashing into you for the last three hours. After Steve left, you had fielded questions left and right about your relationship, what he was like. They wanted to know how someone like you landed someone like Steve, and so many more. Questions like that really pissed you off, but it was something you needed to learn to deal with.

Bucky was next to you, shoulder brushing against yours. “Steve’s not going to be back until after midnight.”

You groaned sadly. “Did he say why?”

“Just that something urgent came across his desk,” he answered with a shrug.

The elevator doors slid open, and you took your place behind Bucky as he unholstered the gun at his hip. “Something’s not right,” he murmured before he searched every nook and cranny of that hallway.

You stayed close to Bucky, fear choking you, your heart pounding in your head. You held your breath as he shoved you against the wall next to the door, signaling for you to stay quiet. Bucky opened the door carefully, slowly, taking in every single detail, but there was one thing he missed.

Gasping, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Bucky glared at you, his mouth open to hurl dark words at you, but you were shaking your head as you pointed toward the floor. There, from one edge of the frame to the other, was a barely-visible string, about three inches off the floor; a tripwire.

The phone was out of Bucky’s pocket as he gripped your arm and hauled you down the stairs. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” he ground out. “The place is rigged to blow.”


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky’s grip was tight on your arm, undoubtedly bruising you as he forced you down the stairs. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” Bucky ground out. “The place is rigged to blow.”

You winced as you stepped on something. “Buck, slow down.”

He shot you a glare and shook his head, continuing to haul you down to the garage, which was fourteen flights. “Negative, Steve. Y/N saw it before I did.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve roared, making Bucky pull the phone from his ear.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky promised. “We’re almost to the garage. As soon as we’re at the backup location, I’ll let you know.”

The phone was handed to you a moment later. “Steve?” you choked on his name, the fear getting the better of you.

“It’s okay, baby,” he breathed heavily, relief at hearing your voice washing over him. “Bucky’s gonna take you to a safe place.”

“Our home was supposed to be safe,” you argued. Tears were pricking the back of your eyes, making it hard to see where you were going.

“I know,” Steve bit out through his teeth. “Trust me, I’m going to fix that as soon as I can. Where are you now?”

Bucky’s hand was still on your arm as he pulled you into the sub-level parking garage. “Almost at the car.”

“Good, that’s good,” another heavy sigh. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you,” came out in a strangled sob. The call was disconnected a second later.

Once inside the car, you strapped on your seat belt and handed Bucky his phone. It was less than a minute later that the car was speeding out of the garage and onto the nearly-empty streets, Bucky expertly shifting through the gears of the expensive machine. His eyes were dark and full of rage as they flicked around, checking for pedestrians and any openings in traffic that he could take, making sure no one was following the pair of you.

Your hands had started shaking and it felt like you were going to throw up, the bright lights zipping by were doing very little to calm you down. With a huff of air out his nose, Bucky covered your hands in his and gave them a squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” he vowed. “We’re going to get that son of a bitch.”

You wanted desperately to believe him, but they didn’t know Brock like you did. “You keep saying that. What if -”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “We  _will_  get him, and trust me, he’ll suffer.” You had to admire his determination.

Despite the hurried turns and the various potholes around the city, the drive was smooth, soothing, lulling you to sleep. You hadn’t been out very long, a handful of minutes, when the engine roared into overdrive.

Bucky called out your name, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, one hand gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “We’re being tailed.”

Fear like you had never felt gripped you tight, digging its long fingers into every inch of you, making you go frigid. You whirled around in your seat and, sure enough, there was a set of headlights that were weaving through the heavier traffic, gaining on the luxury car.

“Lose him, Buck,” you rasped.

“I’m tryin’, doll,” was his growl of an answer. His feet punched the pedals as he shifted once more, the speedometer flying well into triple digits, pulling away from the sedan slowly.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, hard enough that your ribs started to ache. “Oh, thank God.”

“Jesus,” Bucky hissed, his eyes going wide. “Hold on!”

Tires squealed against the asphalt as Bucky slammed on the brakes, turning at the waist to pull you into him as best as he could, his arms wrapping tight around you, doing his damndest to protect you from the car that was barrelling towards you.

* * *

“The building’s secure,” Chief Fury told an anxious and pacing Steve.

“What do you mean, secure?” Steve demanded to know. “There was a goddamn tripwire on the front door.”

Fury shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, and it made Steve want to shake the man to death. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t rigged up to anything. My men found no traces of an explosive, inside or outside the residence.”

Steve scraped a hand over his face, groaning loudly in resignation. “Alright, Chief. Thank you for your time.”

Clint clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“I don’t fucking know anymore,” he scoffed. “I mean, what the hell is Brock doing, putting up a phony tripwire?”

“You want my honest opinion?” Clint asked, his brow arched, hands in his pockets.

Steve was obsessively checking his phone for a call from Y/N or Bucky. “You know I do, brother.”

“I think it was a ruse,” he admitted heavily. “To get them,  _her_ , out of the house.”

“Fuck,” Steve snarled, his teeth grinding painfully, the phone clutched tight in his hand. Just when he felt as if he might throw it into the building, it rang, Bucky’s name appearing on the screen.

With a swipe of his thumb, he accepted the call. “Thank God, Buck. Tell me the two of you are safe.”

A dark and gritty chuckle drifted through the speaker. “I’m sorry, Buck can’t make it to the phone right now.”

The blood in Steve’s veins felt like fire as rage rolled through him. “Brock,” he greeted, putting the call on speaker. Clint’s phone was in his hand, thumb poised over the screen, ready at a moment’s notice to call the police, to do whatever his brother needed.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Brock continued to chuckle, the sound of wet sand and rocks shifting under his weight as he paced. “Wish we could have met sooner, but that Y/N, what a bitch, am I right?”

“Don’t engage,” Clint quietly reminded his brother. “You don’t want to piss him off.”

Steve tried to clear the emotion from his throat before asking, “What do you want, Brock?”

“Straight to the point,” Brock laughed. “I like that about you, Steve. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t have anything that I want. Not anymore.” There was a sharp slap of skin on skin, quickly followed by a shriek of pain that Steve knew all too well.

“You’ve gotta want something,” Steve seethed through his teeth. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called.”

A barking laugh left Brock, and it made Steve’s stomach roll. “Fuck, you’re a smart one, ain’t ya? Alright, alright, you caught me. I want money, Steve, and a lot of it.”

“You want money in exchange for Y/N,” he clarified, earning a hum of approval from Brock.

“I’ll go away if you pay me to go away.”

“Consider it done. How much?” he demanded to know, the knot in his stomach tightening painfully.

“God, you sound like you miss her or somethin’,” Brock laughed again.

Steve’s entire body was shaking from the white-hot and blinding rage that roared through him. “How much?” he bit out.

Brock sighed heavily into the phone. “Ten million, cash, in a suitcase, three hours. I’ll call you with a location.” The call was disconnected before Steve could say anything.

Clint was already on his phone, making a call to the bank that had coincidentally just opened it’s doors for business. “This is Clint Barton Rogers. My brother and I need to come in and make a large cash withdrawal.”

The ground beneath Steve’s feet started shifting. To keep from falling, from giving into the dark thoughts inside his mind, he grabbed onto his brother’s shoulder and stared at his phone. He should be calling someone, he just couldn’t figure out who at that moment.

“How long will that take?” Clint demanded to know, his eyes on his brother, a hand on the back of Steve’s bicep. “No, I need it sooner than that. I’ll be there in ten minutes, we can discuss it then.”

After disconnecting the call, Clint shoved the phone into his pocket and looked Steve dead in the eye. “We’ll get her, Stevie. I swear it.”


	19. Chapter 19

Sitting in the passenger seat of the speeding vehicle, you’d never been more scared, including the night that Brock had tied you up and whipped you until you passed out. That night was a walk in the park compared to the anxiety and unbridled fear that washed through you, threatening to consume you whole.

Out of nowhere, Bucky was yelling. “Hold on!”

You gave a yelp as the tires squealed against the asphalt when Bucky slammed on the brakes. He moved quickly, turning at the waist to pull you into him as best as he could, his arms wrapping tight around you, curling his body around yours. The oncoming truck plowed into the front panel of the car, driver’s side, by the engine, the sound of crunching metal and breaking glass exploded in your ears. The last thing you remembered was the car flipping.

It was the cracking of Brock’s hand on your face that woke you, pulling a yelp from your aching throat. The speed at which your head whipped to the side made your stomach roll, made the already sensitive and torn tissue in your neck scream in agony. Tears were in your eyes as you struggled to open them, the pain pulsing behind them, only growing more intense as you moved your head back to its original position.

You almost threw up when a barking laugh left your ex-dominant. “Fuck, you’re a smart one, ain’t ya? Alright, alright, you caught me. I want money, Steve, and a lot of it.”

“Ste-” you tried saying his name, letting him know that you were… alive.

Brock started circling the chair you were strapped into, the blade in his hand scraping over your tattered shirt, making you shudder. “I’ll go away if you pay me to go away.”

A whimper bubbled in your throat, your hands instinctively testing the bonds around them. “Please, Brock,” you begged. “You do- you don’t have to do this.” Your voice was barely a whisper, which meant that Steve couldn’t hear you.

“God, you sound like you miss her or somethin’,” Brock laughed again. The blade moved through your bloodied hair before it scraped along your jaw. You wrenched your head to the side, bile rising in your throat at the explosion of pain in your head and neck.

He knelt down and grabbed your chin between his two fingers, sighing heavily into the phone. “Ten million, cash, in a suitcase, three hours. I’ll call you with a location.” The call was disconnected before Steve could say anything.

Your entire face crumpled at the carnal lust and rage you saw in his eyes. “Why, Brock?” you croaked.

“You know the old cliche,  _doll_ ,” he grinned, dark eyes roving over your chest. “If I can’t have you…” his gritty voice trailed off and he licked his lips hungrily.

“No,” you argued, ripping your head from his grip, a move which you regretted immediately. “I will never be with you.”

With a snarl, Brock tangled his hand in your hair and yanked you toward him, his lips brushing against yours when he said, “You’ve  _always_  been mine.” And then he was kissing you savagely, forcing his tongue into your mouth and moaning when you started struggling.

You bit his lip hard, drawing blood from it. He ripped away and swiped away the crimson drops with his thumb. “You’re gonna pay for that, you little bitch.” Brock slapped you again, much harder than the first time, with his opposite hand, the one that bore a ring. The design cut into your skin as your head whipped to the side, stars littering your vision.

“Don’t… fucking… hurt her,” someone ground out pitifully. It was Bucky, and he was trying desperately to get to you by pulling himself along the concrete.

You choked on a sob at the sight of him. His knuckles were scraped raw, fingernails caked in dirt, there was gash on his forehead that hadn’t stopped leaking, one of his eyes was swollen shut, a large bruise was blossoming on his chin, and shit, both of his legs were broken.

Brock rolled his eyes as he whirled around. “What are you gonna do about it, Bucky?”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” he vowed, venom lacing his words.

“I’d love to see you try.” Brock strolled over, smirking as Bucky grabbed one of his ankles. He easily wrenched it free, using the momentum to kick Bucky in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious.

There was a scream building inside of you, fueled by rage and fear and hatred. You let loose, not caring how badly it hurt or the consequence it would have. Even as Brock was yelling at you, demanding that you stop, storming over, towering over you, snarling, you wouldn’t stop screaming. You didn’t stop until the handle of the blade sent you spiraling into the darkness.

* * *

The brothers had been at the bank for over almost two hours, and Steve felt like he was going to explode. The longer it took to get the money together, the longer Y/N was with Brock, the longer Brock was doing God knows what to Y/N. Then there was the concern for Bucky. Where was he, had something happened to him, was he even alive? Steve felt like he was going to throw up.

Thank God for Clint. In addition to Bucky, Steve’s brother had always been there for him, no hesitation, no judgement, no second guessing, no looking back. It was as if the universe had brought them together, knowing that they needed each other, that without one, the other wouldn’t survive.

Despite the wealth he was adopted into, that he would want for nothing, the reassurances that his new parents would never give up on him, that they would be there no matter what, Steve didn’t believe them. Every night after dinner, he would pack a bag and sit on the bed, waiting for someone from child services to come and retrieve him. Years later, there were still times that feeling crept into his bones, but it never happened.

Clint nudged Steve with his knee. “Breathe, man.”

“What’s taking them so fucking long?” Unable to sit any longer, Steve pushed out of the chair and started pacing.

“Ten million is a lot of money,” Clint chuckled ruefully.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced at the pain behind his eyes. “I get that, I do. It’s just… time’s almost up.”

“And he’ll call,” Clint reminded him. “He said he would.”

“He also killed her fuckin’ cat,” Steve bit out, tears pricking his eyes.

Clint was out of the chair and in front of his bigger little brother. “You’re scared, I get it. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I doubt I’d be talking in complete sentences. You gotta breathe, man. Breathe and have a little faith that this whole thing is going to be okay. Can you do that for me?”

It took Steve several long moments before he could answer. “Yeah, I can.”

“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout.” Clint clapped his brother on the shoulder, turning around a moment later just as the bank manager entered the room.

“I do apologize for the delay,” he murmured, a large bag in each of his hands.

Steve crossed the room in three strides and took one of the bags. “Thank you,” was all he said. Clint followed suit, taking the other bag and jogging to catch up to his brother as he went out the back way, through the employees only area.

Clint was still chasing after Steve in the parking lot. “Steve, slow down.”

“Why? We have what we came for,” he argued, his shoulders tight.

“Because,” Clint bit out, jumping in front of his brother, “we don’t know where Y/N is yet.”

“I know,” Steve roared, throwing the bag into the back seat of the sleek SUV. “I know, okay?”

Clint held his hand out after setting his bag next to the other. “I’m driving.”

“Like hell you -”

“Steven Grant Rogers, give me the fucking keys,” Clint ordered calmly.

With a roll of his eyes, Steve pulled the keys from his pocket and pushed them into Clint’s hand. He had just opened his mouth for some smart ass retort, but the phone in his pocket sounded off. The phone almost fell from his hand as he yanked it from his pocket.

“He- hello,” he stammered after putting it on speaker.

Brock was straight to the point. “Do you have it?”

“Yes, ten million, just like you said.”

“Good job, Steve,” Brock teased. “Keep it up and you won’t be cleaning up Y/N’s brain matter with a mop.”

Steve almost choked on the bile that had risen in his throat. “Where am I going?”

“The abandoned train station,” was Brock’s answer. “You have fifteen minutes.”

“I had three hours, two hours and fifteen minutes ago,” Steve argued desperately. “The train station is on the other side of town. There’s no way -”

“Fifteen minutes, Stevie,” Brock cut him off. “One more thing, don’t try calling the cops for help. You even try it, I’ll blow her fucking face off.” The line went dead a second later.

During the fourteen minute and thirty-five second drive, the brothers put together a plan for getting Y/N back alive. It was weak and full of what if scenarios, but it was better than nothing.

With twenty-five seconds remaining, Steve took hold of the bags and jogged over to the train station while Clint disappeared around the back. Steve’s designer shoes slid on the concrete floor as he burst into the room.

“Cuttin’ it real close,” Brock admonished, blade in his hand, pressed to her throat, a whimper on her lips.

Steve’s eyes fell to the bloodied and battered man on the floor. “Is he -”

“Dead?” Brock finished. “I don’t think so. Not another step,” he warned Steve, his eyes dark and murderous.

“Okay, okay,” Steve conceded, raising his hands in the air after setting the bags down and taking several steps back.

Brock, with his hand in Y/N’s hair, he wrenched her from the chair and used her as a shield as he crossed the room. “Open ‘em up,” he growled into her ear.

Her hands were shaking as she bent down slowly, every inch of Brock’s body plastered to her back, his breath hot on her skin. First one zipper was opened, then the second, and the moment Brock’s eyes landed on the thick stacks of cash, he let out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Ain’t that a fuckin’ sight.” And then, rage appeared on Y/N’s face.

She shoved her elbow into his ribs and slammed the back of her head into his nose, breaking the cartilage with a loud  _snap_. Brock roared in pain and dropped the knife to cover his face at the same time that Steve lunged forward to grab Y/N, but he was too late.

Brock had a gun in his hand and his arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist, the gun under her chin, her nose brushing against his. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he warned.

“Easy, Brock,” Steve tried diffusing the situation.

“Shut it, Rogers,” he yelled, the sound of the hammer cocking echoed loudly in the room.

Steve wasn’t known for giving up. “Hey, man, we had a deal. Ten million dollars and you let her go. You promised, man.”

“Yeah, well, that was before your bitch broke my fuckin’ nose.”

Brock heard something shift against the concrete, but didn’t know what it was, not until white-hot pain erupted behind his kneecap. He unleashed a scream of unbridled pain that made his own ears buzz. With Y/N still in his grip, Brock fell to the ground, landing on his side. That was where he noticed a very conscious Bucky, a bloody knife in his hand, glaring at him with one eye.

The gun was still between them as Y/N made a move to gain control of it. Brock roared as her hands wrapped around the weapon. He rolled her to her back and pinned her there with his wide and muscular frame, snarling and swearing at her, calling her every vile name he could think of.

Steve was rushing over, murder in his eyes, prepared to kill the son of a bitch, but as soon as he kicked Brock in the face, snapping his head back with an audible  _crack_ , the gun discharged. Sandwiched between Brock and Y/N, the sound was muffled, distorted. Clint entered through the back of the train station, taking off at a dead run at the sight before him, the phone already in his hands, talking with a 911 operator.

Choking on a shout of her name, Steve dropped to his knees and shoved Brock’s body away. God, there was so much blood, too much. Steve couldn’t find the source, and it only fueled the anxiety exploding in his chest.

“Please don’t leave me,” Steve begged, pulling Y/N into his lap, cradling her, kissing her forehead.


	20. Chapter 20

It wasn’t supposed to have happened like this. Steve and Y/N were supposed to get married, grow old together, have a gaggle of kids and grandkids, go on trips around the world; the scenarios and possibilities were endless. That was until Brock came around and fucked it all up. The asshole took everything away from Steve, ripping Y/N away from him with a twitch of his finger. He scraped a hand over his face, a heaving sigh leaving him, the darkness inside of him growing larger, reaching out to touch everything, consuming him.

“Mr. Rogers,” the coroner interrupted Steve’s mourning. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need your signature.”

Steve took the proffered clipboard and pen, scratching his name across the dark line at the bottom of the form, the one that gave permission for the hospital to release Y/N’s body to the funeral parlor. Tears clouded his vision as he handed the form back, grunting as the coroner thanked him.

“Take your time. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” And with a curt nod, the coroner disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

When Steve was done blinking away the tears, he looked down at the steel table, finding Y/N, a stark white sheet covering most of her bruised and battered body. Her eyes were closed, long lashes fanning out, her once-tanned skin was ghostly grey, a stitched up y incision on her chest. Steve’s fingers hovered over her hand, daring not to touch her, because if he did and she didn’t respond, then Y/N was really dead.

A sob strangled him when one of his fingers twitched, inadvertently touching her. Her skin was chilled, driving a shudder down Steve’s spine. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he brought her hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss over her knuckles, his thumb running over the spot where her vein once pulsed in her wrist.

“I can’t do this, baby,” he sobbed, his knees like rubber, not able to support him any longer. He fell to his knees with a grunt. “Not without you. What am I supposed to do without you?” Y/N didn’t answer, she couldn’t, but there was a small part of Steve that fully expected her to.

He reached up to her head and pushed the hair from her face, threading his fingers through the once-lush strands, all but praying for her eyes to open. It was ridiculous, he knew that. Y/N was dead, and it was all his fault. He didn’t protect her as he promised he would. Too many other things had divided his priorities, his attention, and now he was paying the ultimate price.

Gathering whatever strength he had left, Steve pushed up to his feet and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s clammy forehead.

“Steve?” Wait, he knew that voice, but it couldn’t be Y/N. Could it?

He stood up and found Y/N’s eyes open, wide, opaque, unseeing. With a gasp, he stumbled back until he slammed into another steel table. “How… how is this happening?”

She turned her head slowly, pinning him to the spot. “I’m right here, Steve. Everything is just fine.”

“No,” he cried, dropping to his knees, his hands over his face. “It’s not fine. Nothing is fine.”

There was a hand on his face and he jerked away from it. “Open your eyes, baby. Come on. Look at me, Steve.” She sounded frantic and scared, desperate for him to look at her.

Steve was shaking his head, his hands around her wrists, overpowering the dead woman in front of him, a wicked snarl escaping his lips. And then, as if someone had flipped a light switch inside his head, he woke up.

“Y/N,” he croaked, his chest heaving, his heart hammering, blood roaring in his ears. He latched onto her and cried into her neck, not caring how pitiful he sounded. His hands dug into her naked skin, pulling a small gasp from her. “You’re alive.”

She murmured soft assurances as he cried, swept her hands over his shoulders and back, kissed his temple, promised him that she would never leave him, that she was safe, that  _he_  was safe. They stayed there for hours, until the sky started to lighten, until Steve had fallen asleep.

* * *

After a hot shower, you slipped into something [ **loose and comfortable**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Ffe%2F0a%2Fff%2Ffe0aff1e25729f4e8fdf2e5e9b933bae.jpg&t=YjY0ODM1ODVlY2M2ZmFhZjA4MzNkODZkYzViMTJjYjYzY2Q4MWU2ZSw1alFvQmszSA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174695800149%2Fexecutive-decision-twenty) before heading downstairs. Clint and Natasha were in the kitchen, cooking breakfast and making coffee. Natasha turned at the sound of the bar stool sliding against the floor, greeting you with a wide smile.

“Morning,” you murmured sleepily.

“Afternoon,” Clint corrected you with a chuckle.

Running your hand over your face and up into your damp hair, you gave a yawn. Natasha slid a cup of coffee in front of you, patting your hand before she turned around to grab some plates and cutlery.

“My hero,” you praised before blowing into the cup, cooling it just enough that you could take a sip without burning yourself.

Clint started shoveling hash browns onto the plates. “Will Steve be joining us?”

“Not right now,” was your strained answer. “He’s still sleeping.”

“Still having nightmares?” asked Natasha, setting three strips of bacon on each plate.

You nodded after unceremoniously shoveling a forkful of buttery hash browns into your mouth. “They’re getting better, less frequent. Besides, it’s only been six weeks since… since I killed Brock.”

God, had it really only been six weeks? Being kidnapped and held against your will, a knife to your throat, a gun to your head; it seemed like it happened ages ago. And then, there were times it felt like yesterday. If you had zoned out, your head angled a certain way, you swore you could feel the heat of Brock’s breath on your neck. Or, like the other day, when you ran a towel over your face after your shower, your eyes blurred, and you jumped back with a shriek, convinced that Brock was crouched in the corner, ready to attack.

While you were seeing a therapist twice a week to help deal with your demons, Steve handled his a little differently. Steve had always been able to handle himself in hand-to-hand combat, but watching you fight for your life, scared the shit out of him. He enrolled in [ **krav maga**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FKrav_Maga&t=MmM3NGQwNzEyMTU1YWNkNDMxMzY2NGUzMWI4NjRiYWNkMzk2OWU2YSw1alFvQmszSA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174695800149%2Fexecutive-decision-twenty) the very next day.

Nat’s hand was on yours. “Honey, are you okay?” she asked gently, snapping you out of… wherever you had gone.

“Not exactly,” you answered with a grim smile, turning your hand over in hers, squeezing it. “But I will be.  _We_  will be.”

##  **The End.**

Or is it?

_Stay Tuned to find out what happens in the next chapter of their lives._


	21. Wanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened when you and Natasha called Wanda?

Between your glass and hers, Natasha emptied the bottle of wine. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured. “And they did nothing.”

“Pietro said that Wanda refused to go to the police. As far as anyone knows, Wanda fell,” you scoffed.

Before you and Steve left the art studio, Pietro had said that he ended up taking his sister to the emergency room after the assault, but even then, with the nurses and doctors pressing her for information, she mentioned nothing of the rape or the beating. All she would say was that she was such a klutz, that she tripped over her own feet while carrying something large and heavy down the stairs. They must have believed the fabrication, because they treated her wounds and sent them on their way.

“I’m going to kill that weasel of a man,” your friend threatened, her nose wrinkling.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Get in line. Steve’s ready to kick his ass already, and that was before we knew what happened to Wanda.”

“Did Pietro say anything else?” she wondered before taking a long drink.

“Not really,” was your soft answer. “But he did give us her phone number. I’m just… I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t want to trigger her or anything like that.”

Natasha covered your hand in hers. “We can make the call together.”

“That would be great, thank you,” you sighed as you grabbed your phone, fingers hovering over the contact you had created earlier for Wanda.

The line rang a handful of times before she answered. “He- hello?” Wanda stammered, her accented voice raspy, tired, weak.

“Hi, is this Wanda Maximoff?” You tried not to sound nervous, scared, sympathetic.

“This is,” was her answer. “Who is this?”

“My name is Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm tone. “You don’t know me, but I’m good friends with Pietro.”

At the mention of her brother’s name, Wanda sniffled loudly. “Is he okay? What happened?” she implored, emotion thickening her voice.

Even though you didn’t know the woman, you had the urge to hug her, console her, to apologize for the rape, for the suffering she endured at the hands of Baron Zemo. But, there were thousands of miles between you and her. That didn’t stop your heart from aching.

“He’s fine, Wanda, I promise,” you assured her, hoping it would help her relax, even just the slightest. “I uh, this isn’t going to be easy, and I don’t want to -”

Her voice was broken when she asked, “It’s about Bar- the rape, isn’t it?”

Your heart squeezed tighter yet. “I’m sorry, Wanda, but it is.”

“I… I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t help you.”

“Wanda, please,” you pleaded, hoping you wouldn’t end up pushing her away. “I hate to quote Star Wars here, but… you’re my,  _our_  only hope.”

She let out a heavy sigh of resignation, one that you prayed meant she wouldn’t hang up. “Okay, what do you need?”

Nat saw your hesitation and gave your hand a squeeze, giving you the silent courage you needed to ask Pietro’s sister a huge favor.

“Would you be willing to fly to Brooklyn and press charges against… him?” You didn’t want to say his name. It not only tasted vile on your tongue, but with Wanda not being able to say it herself, you didn’t want her to change her mind and hang up. You knew it was impossible for her not to be triggered, the young woman had been violated and beaten; it was going to stay with her until the day she died.

There was a long pause filled with a gasp and the sound of her hand scraping over her face. “Please, Wanda. There are other women he has… done things to.”

“Ask one of them, I beg you.” She was crying now, soft gasps and hiccups pressing against your eardrums.

Tears started to stream down your face. “I’ve tried, the police have tried. They… won’t. And I get it.”

“How could you possibly understand, Y/N?” she demanded to know, anger bubbling, breaking through her sadness.

Talking about it, that night with Brock, all those months prior, hurt more than anything you’d ever experiences, but Wanda needed to hear it, she needed to understand that what happened wasn’t her fault, that there was life beyond the assault, that what happened to her didn’t define who she was as a person. By the time you were done, the three of you were openly crying.

“And what happened to this man, Brock?” she asked through her teeth.

You chuckled sadly. “We’re working on that.”

“If I do this, come to America and press charges, he’ll get locked away?”

You couldn’t lie to her. “Wanda, I can’t give you the answer you want to hear. But, I can promise that we will do everything in our power to make sure that justice is served.”

It took Wanda a few moments before she could say anything. “Okay, Y/N. I’ll come back.”

* * *

> **Several weeks later**

Wanda wrapped her long cardigan around herself, desperately trying to keep herself warm. It wasn’t because of the weather, but because she was standing outside of Baron’s loft. You were at her side, your arm around her shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to be here?” you asked gently, fully prepared to usher her to the car and drive her home, or wherever she wanted to go.

She shook her head and stepped impossibly closer to you. “I want to see the look on that smug bastard’s face when he finds out it was me that brought his world crashing down around him.” You couldn’t help but smile at that.

Steve was next to you, shoulder brushing yours, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Are you ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” you answered, hooking your arm in his.

At Steve’s signal, Chief Fury knocked on the front door. “Brooklyn Police,” he announced, his voice booming, the warrant for arrest in his hand.

You didn’t know what you were expecting to happen, but it sure wasn’t Baron opening the front door with a smile. He was wearing a pair of brown-framed glasses, cockiness flowing off of him in waves. “How can I be of assistance, to the men in blue?”

“We’re here to execute this arrest warrant,” Fury answered coolly, raising the paper and handing it to Baron.

With his brow arched, Baron read the warrant extremely slow, taking his time, doing it on purpose. Once he saw the name of the woman next to you, his eyes went wide, just for a split second. “Oh, please. You’re going to take the word of a woman that became obsessed with me, that fled the country when I turned down her advances? I thought you had more respect than that, Nick.”

Fury’s jaw clenched painfully tight. “Miss Maximoff has come forward with some startling information, Zemo,” his voice was laced with venom. “And to think, I actually believed you.”

Baron scoffed loudly and threw the warrant at the man he had called his friend. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he instructed, unhooking the cuffs from his belt.

“You’re not serious,” Baron huffed.

“I’m dead serious,” Nick confirmed, opening one of the bracelets. “Baron Zemo, you’re under arrest…”

It was as if everything was moving in slow motion as Chief Fury forced Baron to turn around, shoved him against the wall, wrenched his arms behind his back, and cuffed him. Baron was spitting vile words at the man behind him, calling him the worst names he could think of, and a few more for good measure. With a snarl, Nick turned Baron around and guided him to the patrol car, that was when Baron’s eyes met Wanda’s.

Wanda sucked in a breath that made her bones shake. “It’s okay,” you assured her. “I’ve got you.”

Squaring her shoulders, she glared back at the man that had violated her, that made her fear the dark, that made her scream when she was actually able to sleep. Seeing him taken away, all because she had finally come forward, well, it didn’t take away all her pain, but it started to ebb. She even managed to maintain eye contact with her rapist when Nick shoved him into the back seat of the squad. She had been right, the look on his face when he realized it was her that brought his world crashing down felt amazing.

Only when the flashing lights and sirens disappeared did Wanda turn to you and Steve. “Thank you,” she huffed, tears filling her eyes. She wrapped her arms around you and held you tight, crying into your shoulder. She repeated her gratitude several times over, her thin frame shaking as you did your best to console her.


	22. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did Bucky make it out alive?

Protecting Y/N had been Bucky’s job, his number one priority.

“Above all else, keep Y/N safe,” Steve had ordered. So how had Bucky not noticed the trip wire? If he had missed that, how many other things had he overlooked?

With his teeth grinding, he shoved the gun into his holster, ripped the phone from his pocket, and grabbed Y/N’s arm tight, hauling her down the stairs alongside him, probably hurting her, but he didn’t care. He would care later, when they were safe, when Y/N was safe.

The call connected two rings later. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” he grit out. “The place is rigged to blow.”

“Did Y/N go inside?” Steve demanded to know, his voice tight.

She was saying his name, begging him to slow down, but Bucky paid her no attention, shaking his head as he continued moving hurriedly down the stairs. “Negative, Steve. Y/N saw it before I did.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve roared, making Bucky pull the phone from his ear.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky promised. “We’re almost to the garage. As soon as we’re at the backup location, I’ll let you know.”

Without waiting for an answer, he handed the phone to Y/N, keeping himself focused on getting her out of there, keeping her safe. Level by level, they quickly descended to the parking garage. With the push of a button, lights flashed on the car that Bucky had unlocked, shoving her inside a moment later.

In their seats and both seat belts buckled, Y/N handed Bucky his phone. Less than a minute later the car was speeding out of the garage and onto the nearly-empty streets, Bucky expertly shifting through the gears of the expensive machine. He checked and double checked everything as he drove; watching for pedestrians and openings in the minimal traffic, shortcuts that he could take, making sure that no one was following the pair of them.

Despite what was happening, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the way Y/N’s hands had started to shake. With a huff of air out his nose, he covered her hands with one of his and gave them a squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” he vowed. “We’re going to get that son of a bitch.”

“You keep saying that. What if -”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head, determination taking hold of him. “We  _will_  get him, and trust me, he’ll suffer.”

While Bucky focused on the road, Y/N had fallen asleep. He didn’t blame her, adrenaline can take quite a toll on the body. It also gave him a silent permission to not have his focus divided. That was when he noticed a car, sedan, dark, about a quarter mile back.

_Son of a bitch._

The engine roared into overdrive when he stomped on the gas pedal. With one hand gripping the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, he called out for her, waking her up. He could see the fear radiating off of her as she registered the urgency in his voice. She whirled around in her seat just as the sedan started to change lanes.

“Lose him, Buck,” she begged.

“I’m tryin’, doll,” was his growl of an answer. His feet punched the pedals as he shifted once more, the speedometer flying well into triple digits, pulling away from the sedan slowly.

“Oh, thank God.”

By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.

“Jesus,” Bucky hissed, his eyes going wide. “Hold on!”

Tires squealed against the asphalt as Bucky slammed on the brakes, turning at the waist to shield her as best as he could, his arms wrapping tight around her, doing his damndest to protect her from the car that was barrelling towards the luxury car.

Every inch of Bucky was in agony, but his legs, God, his legs, that was almost unbearable. It was the pain that woke him, pulled him from the pitch of unconsciousness. He didn’t know where he was or how long he had been there, and as much as part of himself wanted to panic, to cry out for help, he knew better. He just needed to keep his head long enough to find Y/N.

A gritty voice broke through the thick silence and, even though he knew that following the voice could lead him to something worse than two broken legs, he rolled over to his stomach. It was going to hurt like hell, but Bucky didn’t have a choice. He used his elbows to drag himself across the dirty concrete floor.

It felt like an eternity passed before he was close enough to decipher what was happening. When he saw Y/N, tied to a chair, bloodied and crying, the blood in his veins boiled.

“Straight to the point,” the man that had to be Brock laughed. “I like that about you, Steve. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t have anything that I want. Not anymore.”

The sharp slap of Brock’s hand on Y/N’s face echoed through the room, but her shriek cut through it, sending goosebumps down the back of Bucky’s neck.

A barking laugh left Brock, and it made Bucky’s stomach roll. “Fuck, you’re a smart one, ain’t ya? Alright, alright, you caught me. I want money, Steve, and a lot of it.”

Bucky searched around him for something, anything he could use as a weapon. The gun in his holster was gone, but not the blade he kept tucked to his belt.

“I’ll go away if you pay me to go away.”

He tried to catch Y/N’s eye, to let her know that she wasn’t alone, but she was crying too hard.

“God, you sound like you miss her or somethin’,” Brock laughed again.

 _Shit._  There was nothing he could do but lay there and watch.

Brock sighed heavily into the phone. “Ten million, cash, in a suitcase, three hours. I’ll call you with a location.” The call was disconnected a moment later.

“Why, Brock?” she croaked, tears streaking through the dirt and blood on her face.

“You know the old cliche,  _doll_ ,” he grinned salaciously. “If I can’t have you…” his gritty voice trailed off and he licked his lips hungrily.

“No,” Y/N argued, ripping her head from his grip. “I will never be with you.”

With a snarl, Brock tangled his hand in her hair and yanked you toward him, his lips brushing against hers when he said, “You’ve  _always_  been mine.” And then he was kissing her savagely, forcing his tongue into her mouth and moaning when she started struggling.

Bucky almost gave a triumphant shout when she bit his lip hard, drawing blood from it. He ripped away and swiped away the crimson drops with his thumb. “You’re gonna pay for that, you little bitch.” Brock slapped her again, much harder than the first time, drawing blood with the help of a ring he wore.

“Don’t… fucking… hurt her,” he managed to grind out pitifully, pulling himself further along the concrete.

Brock rolled his eyes as he whirled around. “What are you gonna do about it, Bucky?”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” he vowed, venom lacing his words.

“I’d love to see you try.” Brock strolled over, smirking as Bucky grabbed one of his ankles. He wrenched free from Bucky’s grip, using the momentum to kick Bucky in the face. The cartilage in his nose snapped at the impact, and he was unable to keep from falling into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, it was because Brock was howling in pain. His eyes opened to see Brock with a gun under Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” Brock sneered darkly.

“Easy, Brock.” It was Steve, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.

“Shut it, Rogers,” Brock ordered, the sound of the hammer cocking echoing loudly in the room.

Grunting in frustration, Bucky knew he had to do something. Despite the pain that surged through him, the blood that blurred his vision, he put everything he had into pulling himself closer to Brock, the blade between his teeth. It helped, biting down on the blade. It kept the pain at bay, just long enough to stab Brock behind his kneecap. With the last bit of strength he had, he yanked the blade free and glared at Brock as the man fell to the ground.

It was almost twelve weeks before Bucky was walking… limping around without his casts. Sure, he needed a cane and it took him almost twice as long to get anyplace, but he was alive. As was Y/N, thank God.

After multiple surgeries, weeks of recovery followed by physical therapy, Bucky was more than ready to get back to work. Even if it was something as mundane as watching the security feed. He prayed Steve wouldn’t do that to him.

Steve was waiting for him, front door of the newly-purchased home wide open, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. “Hiya, Buck,” he greeted his friend, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “How ya doin’?”

Bucky chuckled, a genuine smile pulling at his lips for the first time in a long time. “Not bad.”

“You look good,” Steve said, standing to the side so Bucky could enter the house.

“I feel good.” Once inside, Bucky let out a low whistle. “Let me guess, Y/N did the decorating?”

“Why do you say that?”

Bucky looked at his friend with an arched brow. “Because if it had been you, it’d be shades of grey and blue, and technology everywhere. This,” he waved his hand at the warmly decorated interior, “is welcoming and rustic. It feels like a home.”

There was a screech of excitement coming from the next room. Y/N emerged a moment later and broke out into a wide smile as her eyes settled on the man that saved her life. “It’s so good to see you,” she sighed as she crossed the room and hugged Bucky tight.

“You, too,” he agreed, returning the hug with one arm, pressing a friendly kiss to her cheek. “Now, what’s a man gotta do to get a job around here?”


End file.
